The Boy From District Three
by CaptainIncredible
Summary: All he wanted to be was an engineer. Now all he wants do to is die well. The boy who the kids laughed at during the reaping is motivated to not go quietly into the night. Prepared and motivated by his mentors who have designs of their own, he's determined to flip the games this year. Survival is not the goal, dying right is.
1. Prologue

"A forest in the fall," Wiress commented, "this could be to the boy's advantage."

"60, 59, 58…." The crowd counted down.

"Do you really think he is ready for this," Beetee asked.

"We'll know in three minutes. That's all I it will take for at least me to know," Wiress replied as she stared into the screens that displayed all the tributes perched on their platforms. The room was filled with the tributes' mentors, past victors and sponsors. They all watched intently as the final seconds counted down to the start of the games.

"50, 49, 48…"

"I'm more worried about the girl. She could be a liability if she meets up with him." Beetee injected.

"Hell with her," Joe answered with a slight slur in his voice. He had started to drink the minute the tributes left district three's floor in the training center for the hovercraft. "She's a goner."

"I already took care of it," Wiress snapped back in reply.

"Always thinking ahead. That's what we do in district three, think way too much. Can't seem to think up a victor though, can we?" Joe's temper was already showing and the drink was making in worse.

"30, 29, 28, 27…"

"He's ready strategy wise. No doubt, "Wiress answered.

"he knows what we taught him," Beetee finish her sentence. "Yes, he knows all the scenarios, but can he fight? Can he really kill? Can he do what is truly necessary?"

"15, 14, 13, 12…"

"Oh, he'll kill. After how you motivated him, he's ready for that. I should know. You two poured a lot of gas on that fire," Joe remarked as he pointed at both Wiress and Beetee then finish his drink.

"9, 8, 7…"

"Let's just hope that fire burns them all," Wiress smiled as she looked back to the screen. "Three minutes, that's all I need."

"5, 4, 3…"

"He's to hoping," Joe raised a new full glass in a toast as the other two looked into the screens at their best hope in years for a victor.

"2, 1…" and the tributes of the 54th Hunger Games raced off their platforms.


	2. Chapter 1: I Killed Him

I killed him. It was cold, it was calculated and it was awful. The only thing that separates me from the Careers, I didn't enjoy it. I needed the pack and he had it. I was not about to make a friend and share it. Instead I ran him down and killed him for it. My first kill… may I be forgiven for what I have done. Part of me wants to be sick.

I know it is not a time to think about morality at a moment like this. I immediately begin to scan the woods around me for any signs of peers approaching. I am armed, motivated, trained and all too aware of what is at stake if I let my guard down. Everyone who ran from the bloodbath is fatigued and not thinking clearly. The last thing I need is for someone to stumble upon me and have to fight. Fighting now becomes a gamble that I do not want to take.

As I force myself to recover my breath from the pursuit, I quickly assess the tasks I need to accomplish in the next sixty seconds. Security for my present position, secure his pack, take his jacket, take his shoe laces, cut a leg of his pants off, and pay my respects. After that, I need to get ready to hunt. Preparation, speed and surprise will be needed to pull off my plan and time is running out. Not quite the way I wanted to start the Games, but this is the next best thing to hope for. I control very little, but have what I need to turn the tide and shift the balance of power. The hours spent with my mentor have made the decision making process easier. The clouded mental process to make decision under stress has been made more effective since I have already though through the first few moves. Getting what I needed at the start has put many of the contingencies to rest and I can focus on the main objective, taking to the fight to the Careers.

Just as my breath comes back to me and calm sets in, I am ready to move again. One more task awaits me. This will set me apart from the Careers and help keep some semblance of my humanity in a vicious and unforgiving world. I will treat all my opponents with respect in life and death and this is how I will do it.


	3. Chapter 2: His Name was Earl

He ended his life for a backpack of supplies and Mark did not even know what they were. Sometimes the game makers put sand or dirt or worthless sticks and leaves to make the packs look and feel important, but in the end the contents were worthless. It was just one more level of cruelty they would sometimes add to enhance the misery of the Games. The orange color of the pack almost did not catch Mark's attention as he began his escape from the cornucopia, but a quick scan of his escape route brought the unexpected chance of extra supplies into his sights. Warm clothes, a sleeping bag, rope, food, water, or just something to hold other supplies was all the excuse he needs to peruse the boy. In a place where every scrap of material counted, this was nothing to scoff at. The boy didn't look like he wanted to fight and he didn't look armed. All the boy wanted to do was get away and survive the first terrifying moments. He was easy prey for the possibility of survival supplies.

The pursuit into the words was not easy at first. They both ran hard though the thick fall underbrush of the forest, but the chased boy began to slow after only a short time. The hard sprint for supplies and the run to the woods took everything out of both of them. Usually, that is all it takes to not be part of the bloodbath and live though the first hours. If you are lucky to get supplies and make it out of the killing zone, Careers and fellow fleeing scared tributes alike will have forgotten about you and you are essentially safe for a while. The boy would not be so lucky. Mark was in much better shape and closed the large gap fast. He wondered if the boy knew he was being perused with all the sounds of crunching leaves and breaking brush as he made a frantic escape. It would not have mattered anyway. Once Mark was in easy range he simply loaded the bow and made the shot right into his lower back bringing him down and preserving the supplies.

Mark was on him instantly. He used a foot long, two inch thick piece of wood he picked up during the pursuit to deliverer the first blows to the back of the boy's skull. The adrenalin of the chase and the rage Mark suddenly felt after bringing the boy down made him forget the tomahawk he had put in his belt as he sprinted out of the clearing. After the fourth hard thud to his head and the slight muffle of a gasping scream Mark snap back to his senses. "Kill with speed" was screaming thought his head in his father's voice. He immediately grabbed the tomahawk and slammed it into the back of the dying boy's neck, killing him instantly. "Respect you opponents and don't let them suffer if you don't have to." The advice of his father calmed him as he gazed over the lifeless body of his first victim. "Kill with utility."

Mark rolled the boy over and looked into the blank and lifeless expression on this face. His name was Earl from District 9 and he was eighteen years old. He was the middle child of three and he already had a job lined up at the water treatment plant in his district. A teacher in school noticed his math ability along with his attention to detail and recommended him for the position to a mutual friend who was always looking for hidden talent in the young would be field laborers. This friend had taken a liking to Earl instantly. He wouldn't have had to toil in the fields like his peers and could always have had a little extra for his family due to his job status. The struggle to provide would not have been something he would have grown old pondering. Earl's children would have been well fed. In a District that needed water to produce the goods the Capitol needed, those who controlled the supply would always be near the top of the social food chain. The future would have been bright for Earl. Now, the only brightness for him was the sun on his dead face. Mark knew this was all because of what he had done.

Mark made it a point to meet as many as his fellow tributes during training as possible. In an atmosphere where everyone was sizing each other up, Mark was carefree and openly joked about enjoying his last days. He commonly spoke about getting the chance to meet people and learn things he would never have known if he was not reaped for the Games. He said it was a small compensation for dying young. This demeanor put most of the tributes from the poor districts at ease. He ate with different pairs and groups at ever lunch. He moved though the training stations to work with different people all day. This was both a piece of his strategy and also for his own pleasure. The idea had been mentioned by his mentor. Given the fact he was an easy going and curious person, the thought of making a friend for the lonely trip to what Mark figured was his death sounded appealing. The more friends he could make, the more tributes saw him as someone to not take seriously as a threat, the more opportunities he had once he entered the arena. While everyone was busy showing off or just trying to learn a skill, Mark was trying to get to know people. He already was prepared for the Games and Mark did not need to show his hand too early in the fight. Even though they were not yet in the arena, Mark knew the Games were already on.

Though Mark was initially shunned by the Careers, his talents became apparent to them even as he tried to hide his abilities. The Careers knew a prospective ally or threat when they saw one. They never formally approached him about joining their pact, but two separate pairs, the tributes from District 2 and 4, both spoke with him privately about help shifting the Career alliance. Mark knew just as they did that District 1 had a far more lethal pair that seemed all too eager to keep a tight alliance of the traditional Districts. Chase and Sparkle immediately stood out as the tributes to beat. In a conversation in the elevator with Hera and Cronus from district 2, the pair had mentioned that if the games get bogged down and things get desperate, they would be willing to help him if Mark would "break up" the District 1 pair. All this came as a surprise to him, but Mark just nodded and played coy. A vague answer is better than a solid commitment in a situation where everyone, even your own district partner, is an enemy. What better way to eliminate a threat than to make him feel like a silent alley. Trust was never something Mark would afford anyone, especially a Career.

None of that mattered now. What mattered now was moving to a good position and preparing for the fight to come. He had been too successful to let it slip. He knew in order to take the fight to the Careers, he had to act today.

He took one last look into Earl's lifeless eyes. The moment for sympathy had passed now that he had found his focus. With a soft touch he brushed his fingers down Earl's temple and over his eyes closing them forever. His forehead was moist with sweat and Earl's skin was warm to the touch. The eyelids moved with a fluid motion as they hid their lifeless glare that now lay beneath them. Mark them folded Earl's arms across his chest and griped his right hand with his own.

"Find peace my friend and forgive me for what I have done to you."

Mark then got up and moved out from the location. He didn't know what the Capitol would think of this gesture of respect to a fallen tribute, but he tried not to care. He was going to respect his peers in their death, even the ones he personally killed. It was something folks back home often did to the dead. People said their goodbyes to the deceased and wished them well. Mark believed in an afterlife for those who are just. Death seemed so final, but for him it was only for the living. He believed that a good person's spirit would always endure. Mark's view on how he killed also was guided by this belief. The cruel and sadistic would not fare as well as those who were kind. He hoped that when his time came here in the games, he would go to a better place. For now, giving the unfortunate tributes a small send off might bring him his own sense of peace and even win him a sponsor's support.


	4. Chapter 3: Now What

**For those of you who have wondered/asked, this Hunger Games is the 54th Games. I really did not want to put a particular year on it because the story drops several hints of the time frame. The only problem is that the story takes a few chapters to really reveal the time it takes place. Keep the comments coming and offer any suggestions. The story is not over till it's over…. ;)**

* * *

Fall in the woods, it could have been a worse time and place for the game makers to stage this arena. The weather would be cold at night and temperate during the day if his own experiences and preparation taught him anything. The dried fallen leaves would make stalking and movement harder for stealth, but provide a significant advantage for defense. The mix of hardwoods in varying shapes of fall colors and the pine trees covered in green needles would keep some movements covered. Mark did not know how long the game makes would keep the leaves on the trees, but the faster he established himself, the better off he would be when the cover was gone. Yesterday, it was summer to him, but the moment he stepped into the arena four months had passed. Mark wondered in horror if by the end of the games if this autumn landscape would turn into a winter hell. An even more bleak thought of him not being alive to see it crossed him mind as well.

He moved at a hard run for about five minutes in a direction that parallel the clearing of the cornucopia. The slightly rolling terrain could make it difficult to find water without a hard contrast of hills to define stream and river beds. He was comfortable in the terrain so far though. Mark was determined to take what was given to him from the game makers and make his own luck along the way. This place was not designed to inspire hope, but rather promote suffering for sheer amusement. He had to always rely on the thought to stay alive no matter how depressing the situation became. On a small spur in thick vegetation beneath a pine tree with low concealing branches, Mark stopped to prepare. The short field of observation and the confidence he gained with the bow and the tomahawk drove his desire to unleash his plan.

Unzipping the backpack, Mark barley took a second to think about the blood on the top straps which had been stained by Earl's neck wound. It was the anticipation of what was inside that kept his focus. What Mark found inside erased any pity for the dead boy who he ran down and killed to gain these valuable supplies. A small collapsible utility knife, a thick green blanket, a wool hat, a tube of matches, a large collapsible water bottle containing 2 quarts of life saving water, and a thick coil of high strength cord were the bounty for his good fortune. These were the daily survival tools he would need to stay alive from the harshness of the weather. He was certainly ready for the games now. With a start that Mark thought he might not live though, he was no less than an hour into the games with a position that only the careers could match. Mark only needed to focus to keep this streak going.

The water right now was the most advantageous to his plan. With a supply on hand, Mark did not need to waste time looking for a fresh source so early. This gave him an element that his prey never would think of, a quick strike. Usually the Careers fight hard and secure the vast majority of the supplies at the start. They spend a lot of energy fighting. Once they secure the site and kill or drive off the other tributes, they consolidate, organize their supplies and rest before waiting for evening or early the next morning to stalk victims. This was the case in the last few years of the games with the exception of the second quarter quell. Mark had studied this pattern and with the help of his mentor Joe, or Uncle Joe being that his mentor was married to his mother's sister, they had devised a plan of action if Mark had the right start. So for, he was on track.

Mark knew that his enemies were usually trained to react similarly from year to year. The start of an alliance, the hunting down of the weak, the slow break up of groups, and the slaughter of each other if they were lucky enough to kill all their rivals was a common pattern. All that training had put them into a certain mindset that he would exploit. Mark would respect them, but not fear them. There fear is how they would sometimes turn the tables on you. Brutality was a trademark for a lot of careers, some more than other. It depended on the district and the individual as well. Sometimes the more sadistic careers will find a wounded tribute from the slaughter and slowly kill them from sadistic pleasure or to put on a grand show in order to gain gifts from sponsors. The mere thought of dying slowly for their amusement just sent terror though Mark. He was sure he was going to die in the arena, but he wanted to die well. He wanted to die fighting the good fight not begging for death.

Mark was almost finished cutting up Earl's pant leg up into long this strips when he heard the crack of branched and the rustle of leaves. It was moving to his right by not approaching fast. He had not taken too much care in disguising his track. He did not feel a need to this early in the game. The trained killers were still organizing and he was well armed. Mark vowed that if he made it though this incident he would not be so assuming or carless again.

The rustle grew greater has he fixed his bow and knelt into a sturdy and concealed position for a shot. His equipment had been packed up to make a quick getaway for just such an occurrence. He knew the unpredictable nature of the games and how long periods suddenly turn into split second life or death events. The rustling was now closer and moving into the draw. In just a few seconds he would see his target. He was certain by the sound it was just one person, one unlucky tribute to fall into an ambush.

The face that cleared the bush fifty meters to his right front was not the scared look of desperation or the menacing glare of a career. It was a sneaky look on the face of boy from District ten. Hank or as Mark called him Cowboy, was about to get a big surprise. The skinny fifteen year old was a rough and tumble rancher who spoke with a draw and took a feisty attitude with anyone he thought was trying to size him up. Hank also was weak and lacked the combat training that Mark though would aid him. His attitude and brawn would only go so far, Hank needed some skills that didn't involve a horse, lasso or whatever else you used on a ranch. He was also without a weapon or any visible supplies. He was a too easy target.

"Psst." The worlds echoed into the forest from Mark's mouth. Hank froze and looked around. Mark made the noise again. Still, Hank looked around until a sudden look of terror overcame his face. Hank was starting directly into Mark's drawn bow. Hank was frozen for a second until his horror turned into defiance. He was ready to die fighting and Mark knew it from the way Hank squared his shoulders at him and looked like he was about to charge. If he was going to die, Hank was going down with a fight as futile as it may seem.


	5. Chapter 4: I think that is Cowboy

**Keep the suggestions coming.**

* * *

It's Cowboy. What the hell is his real name? It beings with an H I think. Hal, Howard, no wait, Hank. What the hell is he doing here without a weapon? Does he think he can slip by the careers and get something? Is he crazy? I give you one thing, he has guts.

Maybe I should just let him go. If he doesn't see me, that is one more aggravation for the careers. Maybe he could be more of a help than that. He's unarmed and has no supplies. It makes no sense to kill him. If all goes to plan though he could become a liability later. Better to thin the herd now that to risk it later. He wasn't a bad guy during training. He talked a little funny with his draw and his "ma's" and "pa's". This place is not an environment to leave things to chance, but who says he's a chance. Maybe he is an asset. He's obviously brave and strong willed, but he lacks survival training and combat skills. This isn't a bad thing though. Two is better than one. The only problem is when two has to become only one. Uncle Joe warned me against teaming up with the really weak and the really strong, but never the average. He is brave and brave can work for what I need to do. Let's see if he wants and friend.

"Psst."

Over here Hank. Keep looking to find me. Yeah, keep searching.

"Psst."

Yes, now you see me and my arrow. Now you know I can kill you. Now you know that you are found and now I know you are brave by the way you want to charge me. This could be a good alliance. I just hope you can be reasoned with after I just threatened you. I also hope you want to play along in my little game of surprise the careers. If you have the same guts with them as you do now we will have them by nightfall.

Hank, I am going to lower this bow and make a deal that could save us both for the time being.

Playing games with the careers, it sounds like a child's game. It almost makes me want to laugh how innocent I make it seem. Hide and seek or hop scotch are kids games though. How I want to play is far from what children, even grown kids like us, should be playing. I think the rules are simple, kill them or they kill you. Just listen to yourself talk about life and death so matter of fact. I think you are ready to die, but not in the way you think you are. Bravery is so easy to joke about now. Just wait until they are pulling you apart piece by piece. On second thought, best not to think about being ready to die.

Instead, it's now time to make a friend.


	6. Chapter 5: Making Deals Between Devils

**Yes, it's been quit in the arena, but now we start to get people to speak. Sorry for rolling this out one chapter at a time, but I have to edit it as I go. Most of the story is finished, but I have to make sure it all fits together. Keep the comments coming on PM. **

Hank relaxed when Mark lowered the bow and smiled. Just a few seconds ago Hank knew he was going to die and now the adrenaline of the moment was washing over him. It hurt. In the fight or flight moment he was going to fight no matter how feeble it looked. His pa had not raised a coward or a sissy. Before he left for the Games, he was reminded of that. No matter what happens, die like a man. Dying was not on the agenda just yet though.

Mark first met Hank on the second day of training. Mark and asked to sit down across from him at lunch and tried to strike up a conversation with the reluctant Hank. At first, it was one sided until Mark was able to get Hank to talk about his family and the massive ranch they worked on in District ten. By the time they were both done eating, two other tributes Mark had trained with earlier in the day were sitting down with them and listing to Hank talk about roping steer and herding cattle. The conversation was so intriguing to the Mark that he asked Hank to teach him how to lasso at the rope tying station. Hank reluctantly agreed, but later became fully engrossed in the task. It was the only time the two spent together until this moment. Hank even asked Mark what happens in the arena if they two should meet. Mark simply explained to Hank that we deal with life when it happens and gave a silly smile. It was maddening to Hank as well as reassuring. On one hand this was a kid who did not take his death seriously and on the other it was a possible friend Hank could work with even if he had to kill him at some point.

Mark slowly slid his hand down to his waste and pulled the tomahawk to a low ready as Hank approached his hiding spot. Mark was not going to take a chance of Hank being sensible enough to want to listen or consider and alliance. After the lesson Mark just experienced on covering his tracks, he would not leave this encounter to chance.

"Howdy." Hank spoke with a whisper.

"Howdy yourself."

"I fixing to believe that if you wanted to kill me you would have with the arrow instead of that ax. "

"If I wanted you dead, a cannon would have sounded by now."

"They don't sound this early in the games. When the bloodbath is settled, they holler the cannon. It's still too early," Hank was starting to smile with relief at knowing just for now he was ok.

Reluctantly he spoke up "Speaking of cannons, you girl is dead. Just though you should know. The big feller from one broke her neck at the start right dab in front of me. Gave me the reckon to skedaddle out of there real fast." His twang hung on most of the words. The sound of this foreign accent amused Mark in a place where he though fun was almost banished but for the truly sadistic.

"Doesn't matter, she wasn't a friend of mine. She hated me. Still, I sorry she is dead. I'm also sorry we'll all be dead soon." Mark trailed off. He felt cold and heartless saying those worlds that he was sure people back home would hear. The issue was that those words were the truth and the truth hurts. In the games the truth is not always your friend. Sometimes the wrong words can turn off sponsors and that could cost you your life.

Mark didn't start out his journey to the Games with a single ally. His own district partner, Stacy, hated him. They knew each other from school for some time. Many of the kids who went to that school in district three knew each other until the more advanced kids were sectioned off. Mark was sixteen and in the advanced classes, but Stacy was fourteen and with the other kids in the normal classes. They both attended the same school and lived in generally the same area of district three, but though she was two years younger than him, she was in a completely different social class than him. Mark was an outcast at school while she was one of the popular kids. Their families came from the same economic level, but the school yard has a way of dividing kids up regardless of other life's circumstances. Mark had a small group of friends, she had many. She laughed at first with some of her friends when Mark's name was reaped, but fell into tears when her own name was called. Stacy had even remarked on the train to the Capitol in front of everyone that Mark deserved to be reaped and die in the Games, but she did not. Losers like Mark were who people like Stacy wished would go off to die. The entire journey was a pity fest for poor Stacy. To her, being reaped was a great injustice. Even facing certain death, Stacy would not bring herself to be kind to the one person who was most likely to help her.

Mark was instantly snapped back to reality by the thought of death. He had plans to fulfill and if Hank wanted to come along as part of an alliance he had to get him on board fast. If not, they could go their separate ways now and take their chances later. Mark needed to trust Hank and he needed to more importantly get Hank to trust him. If almost killing him and then being friendly was an awkward start, proposing to kill the most dangerous tributes might make Hank a little nervous.

"So here is the deal. You want to live and I don't want to die. This thing right here can't last forever, but for now we can work together. Two is better than one in this hell hole. Plus you need supplies and I have them along with a plan. Are you crazy enough for me to go on." Mark talked fast and continuous as he made his initial offer. He appeared nervous and in a rush. He knew he had to get a hold of himself quickly before this situation fell though. Hank, nervous about the initial pitch, just stared with a calm look.

"I reckon. You can go on." Hank was stunned by Mark's speed and directness, but the cowboy never changed his gaze.

"It's simple we shake on an alliance. You watch my back and I watch yours. When this doesn't work for either of us, we just shake and go our separate ways or shake and kill each other. Either way the alliance is over."

"That's a tall order for a guy who you just pointed an arrow at," Hank accused.

"Yeah well, I don't have time for a lot of BS. Do you want to play nice or not?" Again, Mark knew he was rushing. He also knew that Hank was a slow moving and calm guy.

"I reckon, but if you sell me short I will kill you slow. Pa didn't raise no back stabber and I ain't about be back stabbed," Hank replied with a mean and accusing tone. Who can blame him? Here he was in the games and a tribute who he thought was a little funny in the head was suddenly asking him to be best friends. Hank though that his new friend was just a little too hyper at the moment. Hank guessed it may be the adrenaline or that the boy was just nervous, but who could be sure what another tribute was thinking at a time like this. They all just watched and survived a bloodbath. That event would be hard on anyone, especially kids.

Hank took a deep breath and pointed to the supplies and reluctantly asked "what about that stuff?"

"We share. I figure that if we don't, you'd just kill me for it. "Mark's voice was suddenly calm.

"I kill you for it after we shake. My ma is watching this. I won't have her spat on the floor cause her son is a yellow son of a bitch." Hank's tone never lost its aggression no matter when he spoke, but to accuse him of being dishonest seemed to enrage him. This could be useful later Mark though, but for now he had an ally to work with.

"Deal," Mark said putting out his hand.

Hank grabbed it firmly and shook it twice very hard and direct. The alliance was on.

"Good, let's go kill the Careers now," Mark said with an innocent smile. It was all matter of fact to Mark, but Hank was suddenly stunned by the though.

"WHAT?" Hank's jaw dropped in surprise. Mark just smiled and let loose an evil laugh before revealing his plan.


	7. Chapter 6: Kicking the Hornet's Nest

"Someone out there is doing some killing of their own," a certain an angry voice shouted from inside of the cornucopia.

"Maybe we miscounted or maybe one stumbled away and died of wounds in the trees," the rebuttal came from Hera as she scanned the wood line looking for anyone bold enough to spy on the Career pack.

"None of us let anyone live that long. Only that bitch from District eleven who though she could wield that ax lived long enough to see the end of the slaughter," Chase said with certainty. "They fought for what is ours and ten died fast. It is fitting that the eleventh to die was from District eleven."

"You know, I really didn't think she would live so long. Whoever was watching is now on notice about being foolishly brave," Chase added with amusement. You could see by the look on his face that he took the ordeal as part business and part pleasure.

""I think it was a little excessive. We have the entire Games for that kind of stuff," Cronus commented standing next to Chase.

"Whatever. Tonight you can have some fun again. This cooler weather will bring out the fires. These kids are not ready for what lies ahead." Hera never looked back into the cornucopia where the two boys were arranging the supplies.

"There was hardly anything here to begin with. It's weird, the majority of the weapons were further out and the clothing and food were further in. I think the elements are going to draw a lot of them out no matter what kind of weapons they have." Cronus was ready to hunt, but something about how and what supplies were laid out was making him think too hard. He knew that the most valuable items were the closest to the golden cornucopia. If protection against the elements was the largest priority, they had to find the other fast before the Game's conditions started to kill the weaker tributes.

"Are you done thinking too hard," Sparkle berated Cronus as she walked into the Cornucopia. "A few sweaters and blankets does not make a bounty of vital supplies so far in the center. They put the weapons so far out because they wanted the killing to be bloody. Why do you think the weapons are mostly axes?"

"It just seems scarce for the amount they usually lay out."

"That's good. We have the best and they have a scattering of the rest. Besides, with what Hera and Chase did with the chick from eleven, anyone who saw it will run long before they try and fight. Fear is a powerful weapon against the poor and unskilled." Sparkle was every bit as arrogant as her district had a reputation for. All during training she mocked and jeered at the tributes for the poor districts. She was always well fed and taken care of in district one. She lived lavishly compared to most of her peers. That's not to say her life was easy, but it was far better than most. She never really knew hunger growing up, not even during her training at the academy. She hoped to kill the majority of the weak tributes before food became an issue.

Sparkle wasn't as particularly good looking or as tall as most of the tributes from district one in the past, but she was no less lethal. Her score of eleven was the highest of all the tributes. Back home she was known as the best runner in the training academy and was good enough to be a junior instructor with weapons. She and Chase had both won competitions with spears before they were even old enough to be reaped for the games. Sparkle actually did not want to compete in the games, but prepared like she was going to volunteer. The only bow left in the clearing was draped over her back with the ten arrows in a sheath right next to it. She was the muscle and the attitude that would hold the alliance between the Careers together. She made it clear that they would first hunt down the others before dissolving this pact. Based on how she enjoyed watching and cheering the disemboweling of the girl from eleven, it was clear she had a taste for cruelty as well.

"So where did the twelfth tribute die?" Cronus insisted on pressing the issue.

"Who cares really? Twelve down, seven for us still hunt." Chase was obviously board with the conversation by now.

"Maybe it was the person who killed Horatio?" Kate continued. She had lost her fellow district tribute in the opening minutes and was now fearful she was only a fit of rage away from being killed by one of the other Careers. The tributes from District four were not as well prepared this year as their counterparts from one and two. Being alone in this pact made her uneasy. That's not to say she was weak by any measure. The others would have excluded anyone they found unfit for the alliance. True, it was traditional for one, two and four to form an alliance, but if an unworthy tribute emerged from one of those districts, that person was sometimes cast out.

"Shut up, just shut up! The girl form eleven killed her when your boy let his guard down. I didn't see you protest when she begged to die. You even taunted her for Horatio." Chase was now becoming irate with the whole conversation. His minor conversation with the others had spiraled into a debate that could only end in an argument or worse.

"Shut the hell up all of you," Hera screamed has she crouch down and drew their attention to the wood line. Someone was out there watching them and she knew it. She knew how to hunt in the fall season. The mountains of District two near her home gave her excellent training on stalking prey. She had great instincts when it came to her surroundings and she was certain that something or someone was out there.

Without hesitation, Cronus was moving and Hera quickly followed behind. Cronus grabbed a long bladed ax in stride to complement the two knives in his jacket. The others knew that District two had the rights to the next kill. Chase's drawn out performance on the girl from eleven assured that. Besides, Kate, Sparkle, and Chase were too busy still arranging supplies and resting to care who killed next. What was one more kill in a week that would provide plenty of opportunities? The Careers agreed that Cronus and Hera were the best hunter as a team. They both came from families that were expert trackers from the Capitol's security forces. While some kids hone there fighting skills in the academies, Hera and Cronus both focused on staking prey. To Cronus, a strait up fight was a risk, stalking gave him a perceived advantage. He preferred his killing at ten meter distance to limit the risk and maximize the lethality.

The two crashed into the wood line and suddenly stopped. They scanned their surrounding and then took off to their left. They stopped again and began to creep though the underbrush slowly. Each step was in sync. Hera gripped her spear in a ready position as if the target were about jump out at her. Their footfalls we soft though the leaves, but still made a soft crunch under their boots. The dull yellow jackets blended in with the fall colors and the kaki cargo pants now stained with blood helped camouflaged them in the underbrush. Hera led the pair as they slowly circled back to the place she first detected a presence.

"The kill is mine to bring down," she whispered.

"But mine to finish," Cronus countered.

"Whatever," she mouthed back to him.

Suddenly, the rustle of leave and the sound of someone fleeing broke the calm of the trees. The two took flight with a controlled and urgent stride. They knew they had someone. Maybe if the tribute would have stayed still, the two might have passed them by. If it had been a summer forest, it would have been harder to hear the movements, but the excess of dried leaves made stealth so much more difficult. The poor soul who dared to spy on the careers was not very quiet about it. This mistake would cost the tribute their life.

They were almost upon their prey when a scream rang out just in front of them. Suddenly a whimper started and the movement became fixed and sounded as if the tribute had fallen to the ground. After crashing though a set of low hanging pine branches they saw him lying on the ground beneath a tall almost bare tree. The panting boy was grabbing his right leg with a stunned painful expression. His jacket was brownish with a large number nine in red on the right shoulder. His clothes were covered in leaves from where he fell. He was clutching his leg just above the knee and rocking side to side from the pain. His expression of pain turned to complete horror as he saw the two bearing down on him. Rolling to his front, he immediately began to claw at the ground to try and get away, but it was of no use. The boy barely moved. He rolled over to see his pursuers and began to cry.

"Maaaaa! Ma, please don't look. Oh god please don't reckon this." He screamed out.

The two slowed and then stopped. After surveying the scene, they slowly approached the unarmed boy who still clutched his leg. Not only had he been detected, but he broke his leg trying to escape. This deserved special attention in Hera's mind. She wondered what he saw and what he knew. Even more pressing on her mind was who else was working with him? Hera knew she would find out. She planned on pealing the boy like an onion and not just for the information, but for the cameras. Sometimes a good show was rewarded and she was a girl who always liked a reward. Also, she wanted to see just what Cronus was capable of. Sure he fought well today, but he killed fast. Hera wanted to know how far he would go. They were not friends back home, but like the tributes from district one, they had become astute at working together.

"Please! Oh god, please. PLEASE!"

Hera just smiled.

"Oh, yes. Please, please don't kill me. We won't kill you… fast. Silly boy, you should have run far away." The taunting voice of Hera sent waves of terror though the boy.

"Don't worry, mommy won't miss it. It will take a while so she has plenty of time to watch."

"PLEASE! Maaaaa…."

Cronus just laughed. He knew this kid was no going to die quick. Tough luck kid, the odds were not in your fa…

It was the last thought that went though his head before the arrow struck him in the neck at a downward angle. His brown hair was sprayed with blood from the gushing wound. Cronus crumpled to the ground and began to flop trying to pull the arrow from his body.

Hera barely noticed Cronus fall before she was struck in the chest at a downward angle. She fell to her knees just as the second arrow struck her. She fell to her side facing the boy who should have been her victim. Unlike Cronus, she just laid there stunned. For all the training and all the preparation to ensure that if she was reaped she would survive, this was fade to black. It wasn't even close to dusk on the first day and she was dying. She thought about what her dad was thinking now that the best hunter in the village was indeed hunted herself. She wondered what her mother would do now that every day the games went on she would be reminded that there would be no hope for her daughter. She would never get to be held by West again. She loved him and he loved her. Their plans of jointing the peace keepers had been shattered by the reaping. Now, he would be alone. Hera saved his life when she talked him out of killing himself after the death of his sister. Maybe West would try and join her now that she was gone too. The last thing she saw was a bush falling to the ground from a tree and smacking her on the neck with a tomahawk. How did this happen? The blood spewed on her brown hair as she exhaled her last breath.

Cronus bled profusely from the neck wound. He couldn't scream and couldn't breathe, yet he still struggled for his life. The forest came alive before him and struck Hera on the neck with something. He watched in horror as the bush covered in leaves turned to him and raised a tomahawk with an outstretched arm. He suddenly realized, this was no bush, it was not even the forest coming alive, this was another tribute camouflaged in leaves and branches. They were both ambushed by the boy from three. Cronus suddenly realized that he was going to die. Sadly, he realized that Hera had been right all along, the boy from District 3 was more dangerous than he let on. In the end, the heated arguments about letting the boy from three join the alliance, if only to keep him close, was decided badly. If he had sided with Hera, Cronus would still be alive right now.


	8. Chapter 7: The Name is Hank, Not Cowboy

"Next time, when you prey is down, don't hesitate to kill them," Mark growled in a sharp accusing tone as the excitement of the moment washed over him. He had just killed two Careers within seconds of each other without any problem. His hands were already stripping Cronus's shoelaces. Speed was on his mind. Cronus's jacket would be next.

"Dang," Hank was still stunned by the speed and ferocity of the moment. The fear he had over facing down the careers was real. Hank thought that Mark had abandoned him when the two had him trapped. He was sure that they would be long dead before his attackers could have ever moved so close to him. Hank didn't think Mark would let them get so close.

"You weren't suppose to let them get that close," Hank whispered to Mark as he calmed down from his performance. Two cannon shots sounded in the distance. District two was out of the games.

"I needed a clear shot. I had to have them focused on you and nothing else. I couldn't risk them detecting a trap." Mark was pointing up to the perch in the tree where he delivered the shots. Unless you were looking directly at him, Hank figured that he would have been completely invisible with the camouflage outfit he constructed.

"Heck with that. I reckon you need to come to terms and pony up more before you put me out to dry."

"Cowboy, calm down."

"I ain't gonna calm down right yet," stressing the last four words in a mocking tone. "Those fellers were gonna skin my hide for all to see. I did my part in gettin' em here, I just don't like the feeling of being hung out. And what's with this Cowboy flop? The name is Hank."

"You're alive, right?"

"I reckon…"

"Good, problem solved." Mark dropped his tone like there was nothing else to discuss. "I have to tell you one thing, you have one huge set of ball on you Cowboy." The wide smile and admiration in Mark's face eased the mind of Hank who was still looking to argue over the incident. He had removed Cronus's jacket and noticed that inspire of the gushing wound he suffered, the jacket had very little blood on it. Perfect for keeping him warm later on.

"Pa don't raise cowards," Hank accused. "and stop with the Cowboy I said."

"And that performance about you leg, if you can keep stuff like that up we are in business. They we focused only on you. I don't think they even knew what happened till I was on them." Mark now realized that nicknames for his new friend were not going to stick. He may as well just drop it. Why anger the one person crazy and brave enough to follow him?

"Reckon so. They were dead bent on my pain. It's sick when you think of it." Hank now began to see just what happened. Sure, he was the bait, but the prey was completely disarmed by his performance. The wounded tribute role lured them into a false sense of assurance. When Mark first proposed the plan to him, Hank out right refused. It took several rounds of working though the plan before Hank was comfortable with it. What finally sold Hank was Mark's ability with the bow. He fired two shots into a tree twenty five meters away and hit both shot within six inches of each other to demonstrate what he was capable of. Hank reluctantly agreed after that, but still had his doubts. Now, those doubts were all but a memory.

Mark was giddy about his first attempt at killing careers. He crouched down and surveyed the scene. Hank had Hera's laces and jacket off. Her lifeless body lay on its side with both hand stretched over her head. Her face tilted in an unnatural position due her broken neck. Cronus was on his front and his face lay in a pile of bloody leaves. Momentum was on Mark and Hank's side. They had no time to rest if they wanted to control the cornucopia and the lion's share of supplies before dusk. Mark moved to Cronus and rolled the tall boy on his back. His lifeless eyes were already closed to the world. Mark folded Cronus's arms across his chest and game the boy the same send off he gave earlier to Earl. As Hank watched this foreign behavior, Mark gave Hera the same treatment.

"What's all that for?"

"I respect my opponents in life and death," Mark replied solemnly. His tone reflected a sadness of not only having taken these two kids lives, but also crushing the lives of their families back home. "This could have been us. Let's not forget that," he added.

"I reckon there is more to you than you let on."

Mark stared at him for a few moments in complete silence. He tried to let the moment pass by like it was nothing. He did not want to appear weak to Hank, but his actions opened a suspicion in his new found friend that nothing could erase for the time being. The thought was only broken with the revelation that they were still in danger and the rest of the careers could be on them at any moment.

"Ready for part two?" Mark said excitedly.

"I really don't want to drag this girl along."

"Well, I don't want to have to take him either," pointing to the body of Cronus now at peace with his arms folded across his chest.

Mark knew that the cannon blasts would alert the rest of the careers. They were only four hundred meters from the edge of the wood line of the clearing. If he and Hank moved away, the hover craft would retrieve the bodies and the surviving Careers would be alerted that something went wrong. Right now all they knew is that two more tributes were dead. For all the careers knew, Cronus and Hera were still busy butchering some poor soul. There was no reason to suspect that two of the strongest tributes had both been killed so early. As long as Mark and Hank could keep them in the dark about what happened to their allies, the careers would not be in an aggressive posture for the pair's next move. Mark was playing a calculated game of deceit.


	9. Chapter 8: The Wolves' Den

"Once they get back I can finish setting the traps," Kate eagerly said. This waiting for Cronus and Hera was holding her up. Once the Career pack left the cornucopia, they did not want anyone else to be able to come scavenging for supplies. The booby traps could take care of any industrious tributes looking for any scrap of help. Kate tied may fish nets back in District four. Weaving the cords and nets that would snag a would be thief was second nature.

"Two cannon blasts and no hovercraft in sight; it must have been a long pursuit." Sparkle was getting jealous of her peers little adventure.

"Maybe they caught three. They killed the first two fast and are taking their time with the third," Chase answered.

"Whatever," Sparkly dismissed his analysis. "As long as they are back by dark. I want to be on the track of the rest before we lose too much light."

"You have the next watch," Chase yelled to Kate.

"Get some sleep then. I still have work to finish. I'll rotate later when the others get back." Kate was not about to set the traps until they were ready to leave, but she was not quite ready lay down just yet. True, she needed some sleep for a long night's hunt, but she needed to finish the traps. Just before they would set out, she would only need ten minutes before departing for the evenings events. Still, part of Kate worried that if she became useless, the other might turn on her early and kill her. Her score was only an eight, the lowest of the Career pack. She was still lethal, just not a worthy in the eyes of her peers though. She knew it was a long fight and anything could happen, but she was not going to let up at all no matter what some number said her ability was.

"Fourteen down in the first hours," Sparkle mused. "That only leaves five to hunt down before we break up."

"If we stick to our plan," Chase spoke low enough that Kate working a far distance away could not hear, "we can round off the others while the worthless are still dying."

"Keeping one or two alive together to work on will take effort and some luck." Sparkle mused at the task. "If the careers from two are occupied, we can slay them fast. I don't trust them in the open. They are way too good in the cat and mouse of the hunt. I prefer a strait up fight of ambushing them when we are still in an agreed alliance."

"If they are occupied with slowly ending someone, we'll have them. It's Kate I can't get my mind around. If we kill her before the District two we tip out hand. I'm not sure how good she is at hand to hand though. We may have to run her down and tire her out. She doesn't seem as easy to distract with tortuous deaths like Cronus and Hera." Chase had laid out the future so simply for Sparkle. The only question that he held back on was how they would settle their issues to see who would be the victor. Chase's arrogance did not let him even consider that anyone else beside the two from District one could win this year. He and Sparkle we stronger, better trained and better skilled than the all the others this year. This would be a traditional Hunger Games were the strong would kill the weak and then turn on each other. He did not see any odd make up of the arena so far as to suggest that a random weak tribute could gain the upper hand. The lack of supplies would force tributes to spend lots of time gathering. Also, the emphasis on the cold weather clothing at the cornucopia made Chase believe that the elements would be harsh for those not prepared. It was simply a matter of hunting them down now and not making bold and fatal mistakes. After the weak are dispensed, he could kill the rest of the Careers.

Overall, the past few years have been good for Career pacts. Here and there an unknown had emerged, but a non Career victory usually came from an arena that favored luck over skill. Two years ago, six Careers hunted down and killed all the other tributes together. They worked as an efferent team. All six were highly skilled and motivated to settle things among themselves. It took less than fifteen minutes to find a victor once the last non-career was killed. When Chase was a boy, there had been an arena covered in snow. That year a boy from district seven won because he was able to tunnel into a snow bank and hide. Most of the tributes, including the Careers, died of the cold weather. The boy was able to keep warm enough to outlast the rest without killing a single person. Such events were in fact rare. In the opening moments in this year's arena, the tributes from districts one and two all knew that the odds were stacked in their favor. They were trained and coached enough to recognize the situations they might be brought to fight in.

Chase started to say something else to Sparkle, but she was already asleep. Her shoulder length curly blond hair was pulled out of its pony tail holder as she snuggled up on a sweater she laid down for a bed. He wondered how someone so dangerous could look so innocent at a time like this. If she was going to be the enforcer of the Career pack, he would be the silent partner. Sometimes it wasn't what or how you acted, but rather how you sometimes didn't act. He wished they both could be victors, but had already prepared himself to kill her when the time came. This was Distinct one's year, he could feel it.

"I think there back." Kate voicewas barely audible as Chase dozed off.

Something was moving in the brush at the far end of the clearing. Who or whatever it was made a lot of noise. Kate didn't know if it was Cronus and Hera returning, but by the amount of noise, whoever it was sounded like they were carrying something back with them?

"Wake up!" Kate hustled over to both of them as she pointed towards the wood line. What she saw was definitely a cause for concern. The quiet afternoon of rest and preparations was about to be broken by the arrival of something that none of the Careers would expect, a weaker tribute dragging Hera's body.

He wasn't very large, kind of scrawny by the Career's standards. He was dragging her from behind under her armpits. By the look of it, he was exhausted from getting her to the clearing. His yellow jacket was covered in blood and Hera's body was limp. The boy was yelling something, but the frantic sound in his voice drowned out an intelligible word. His waved his arms from them to come and assist. It was a scene of total disbelief to Chase. The rustle of leaves and the sound of the last branches breaking as he pulled her out of the woods cracked thought he silence of the clearing. The noise caused all other sounds from the wildlife surrounding them to go silent.

Chase nudged Sparkle with his foot. "Get up," he commanded her in a business tone that rang of a man sensing trouble.

Sparkle sat up and smiles. She grabbed the wood ax and stood up slowly to stretch. For good measure Sparkle slung the bow over her shoulder. A girl can never be too carful she thought. Whatever this poor fool though he was doing was a mistake. It was only day one and she was about to help make an example out of someone for the second time in one day. Chase grabbed a large ax with a semicircular blade that curved half way down the long handle. He thought this was a weapon for show, but the range of motion and the long cutting surface could be great for hacking off limps. Kate dropped her traps and grabbed two spears. The trio then took off from the base camp at a solid run to pounce on their prey. This would be the first coordinated slaughter of a tribute. Though the killing at the beginning of the games was a Career effort, the slaughter was more of individual killings. This attack would be like a pack of wild dogs descending on a meal.

Fifteen down in a day and there was still darkness to come. Whatever those two cannons were form earlier, Sparkle was sure Hera's limp body had something to do with it. And where was Cronus? Did he go rogue? Chase did not think this little wimp could have taken down two Careers like Hera and Cronus all by himself. Chase knew who he was now. He was the boy from district 9, the scrawny kid with the feisty attitude who taught the others how to rope and lasso. This was going to be interesting. Oh, Panem was about to get a full weeks worth of entertainment on the first day. Whatever the circumstances with Hera and Cronus are, this will only enforce this year's Hunger Games being a year for District one.

The boy dropped the limp body of Hera and began to wave his hands above his head to them. He motioned for them to come closer. They could see he was hysterically screaming and upset, but not frightened of the pack descending up him. He pointed to Hera and them to them and waved them closer. All the while, the tempo of the Career's pace quickened. They could just make out the cries for help when behind the boy a hover craft appeared and reached down its arm into the woods behind him. The trio stooped long enough to see the body of Cronus being lifted from the wood line. Though it was unspoken, they Careers knew that this boy would never leave this clearing again. It was only a question of how long he could live though what was about to happen. The continued their charge.


	10. Chapter 9: Stay Calm and Kill Them All

Stay calm. If you get too excited and rush your shots you lose. Patience is what will bring them down. Just remember what you were trained to do. This is no different than the drills dad had you run out back Uncle Joe's house. Well, I guess instead of a beating from the other kids, I'll get disembowel by those sadistic Careers. Either way, the task does not change.

They're falling for it. I really can't believe it could be this easy. For such highly trained killers, they are kind of predictable. Just the looks on their faces tell me that they are buying it. They smell fresh prey and I think they are going to bite at it. I don't think I could just play the part of the bait like Cowboy is. That kid had balls. He could become a liability as this goes on if I don't watch him closely, but he makes one hell of a partner. I think this is going to be a good alliance if we both live though this.

Here they come, full speed into their deaths. The girl from one is the primary target. She is the primary target followed by the boy. The girl from four is the last target, but where is her district partner? Where is he hiding? Is he out on a recon for us? Do they know something is wrong? I wonder if they are setting their own trap. Not by the look of their reaction. They are closing in on Hank like he is all alone and they look pissed. Just have to get them in range and let the chips fall where they may. A little closer and they are mine.

Cowboy has to be nuts. He must think I am insane, but he is still out there. He must really believe in this plan. Come to think of it, I think he is too scared to no go along. He has suddenly teamed up with someone who just killed two of the best tributes in the Games without breaking a sweat and who suddenly wants to be equal partners. The whole idea has to be pretty frightening since only a little while ago he was alone and hunted. I also think Hank thinks I'm a little nuts too. Can't say I blame him though.

Here comes the hover craft. Cowboy must have cleared the distance. This was a great idea of using Cronus's body to draw the hover craft. It's a great distraction. They are slowing and now stopping, but just out of range. Dam! This would be easy pickings. I could have taken two before the third would even have noticed, but not at this distance. Patience… patience.

Here they come and now they really look pissed, poor Cowboy. The boy from one is now the first target. I think he needs to die first. He's now Cowboy's biggest threat. He's leading and looks the most enraged. The girl from one might have scored an eleven, but can she spot an ambush like this? The only worry is the girl from four with that spear. She'll know an ambush is on by the time I get the girl from one. I wonder how good she is with throwing it. Even more important, I wonder where the boy from four is. Is he dead or is he a threat?

I have to stop calling Hank Cowboy. He hates it. The last thing I need is my partner pissed at me for stupid reasons. Sure, we will have to kill each other if things go well, but I do not need the drama up till that point. Plus, I kind of like the guy. He has guts and is just as determined as me. Most of the others are just clawing to stay alive, Hank I think wants a little more out of the Games.

Calm now. I really feel it now. Just like when I killed the two tributes from District two. It's kind of eerie, but reassuring. Just like back home. I don't want to enjoy this. I felt dirty after killing Earl, but almost noting after killing the district two tributes. I just hope if this works I can feel like that again. This has to be perfect. These are careers and not targets at home. No room for error in this. This is my path to victory or death. This is where you and Hank either live or die. Time to find out.

Chase is his name, that it. Good bye Chase


	11. Chapter 10:Wolves Slaughtered Like Lambs

It struck him in the upper chest. He had just pulled back the ax in an offensive position and it burst into him with a hard thump. He didn't even have time to think before he was crashing into the ground. The arrow burst out his back as the contact from the ground forced it deep into his lungs and out his back. Chase rolled to a stop a few meters in front of Hank, but he was not dead yet. Death took time to set in, but it would be helped along by Hank brandishing the tomahawk and dealing with the wounded boy.

The second arrow struck Sparkle in the stomach. She saw Chase go down and instinctively began to crouch. If she had known it was an arrow, she would have darted from side to side and slid into cover once she had a direction of the shooter. The problem for her was that the second shot came so fast. Mark had reloaded and aimed before he even knew the accuracy of his first shot. The arrow was in the air before Mark even knew if he had been successful with his first shot. Mark knew that he would not have time to assess shots. He wasn't that fast, but he was fast enough to be lethal. If it had been spears, axes or knives, he would have to be more selective. The arrows gave him the distance he needed to be quick, but less choosy. Sparkle had her bow around her shoulders and by no means ready to use it. Nothing else the Careers carried could be effective against him at this range. Hank was the only one in danger. His father and uncle had trained him well. He wasn't quite a career, but he was dam close.

Sparkly fell to her knees and grimaced in pain as she quickly assessed the wound. It was bad, but not fatal in the immediate sense. She was still able to function and still had the ability to move, but she also knew she was still in danger. The revelation was short lived when the second shot struck her in the upper right chest just below the shoulder sending her falling back and onto the ground. Even in the shock of the moment, the most dangerous tribute knew she was in trouble. Two quick wounds from an unknown ambush and now she became the hunted. Years of training had taught her how to kill and survive. Now, all that work was telling her that things were bad and she might not live long if she panicked or hesitated. Pain shot though her body as she attempted to move. Just in front of her the boy who had lured the pack towards the wood line was beating Chase to death with what she thought was a tomahawk. The tears that swelled up in her eyes from the pain made focusing hard. She rolled slightly to her left side and tried to find one of her weapons before it was too late.

Mark had been deadly accurate with his opening shots. He thought that if he could just kill one and wound another he would be successful in this ambush, but this was too much. The second arrow had been low and Mark knew that Sparkle would not go down easy from a wound. He knew that he had to put a lethal shot into her if he wanted to take out what was for him the most deadly tribute in the Games. The calm of the moment helped clear his judgment. As he lay waiting for Hank to begin his distraction he constantly rehearsed what to do and when and where to shoot. He knew preparation was key to being successful in ambushing the careers. When Hank took the initiative to bludgeon Chase once he was shot, Mark felt the momentum of the fight on his side. Sparkle was down and now all that remained was the girl from district four who had slid to the ground when the second arrow struck Sparkle.

Kate was a further shot for Mark. Not as fast as her two companions, her lagging behind allowed Kate see the other two fall and was able to find the location from where the arrows hard come from. As she slid to the ground, she did not see the shooter, but knew he was just inside of the woods. She slid to a stop in time to see the boy who was dragging Hera about to strike Cronus with a small tomahawk. Kate wondered if this was the same tomahawk she had almost hit the boy from district three with at the start of the games. He had just tripped a boy from district five who was going for the same weapon when she zeroed in on him. At first she would though she would kill the boy from five, but decided that since the boy from three might get what looked like a bow, she needed to kill him first. The throw of the tomahawk can just as he picked up the bow and sleeve of arrows in stride. His back was to her and he wouldn't even see it coming. She didn't have any immediate threats around her and a spear lay just a few yards in front of her. She knew if she just struck him in the back she should finish the boy from three off with that spear after she disposed of the boy from five. The boy who was trying to be everyone's friend during training would get a hard lesson in dying from the girl who actually though he should have been welcomed into the career pack. It was a shame that the tributes from one and the boy from two were so adamant against someone they thought was just not good enough to join their pack. They thought of him as a liability more than someone to help. Sparkle was the deciding factor with the traditional alliance or nothing proposition. She wanted no part of outsiders in her well formed click. To Kate, it was better to just let Sparkle win this argument than to give her an excuse to take vengeance later.

As the arrow wised by Kate left side by just inches and stuck in to the ground, she knew she was in danger and she knew where it was coming from. She clinched the spear tight and stayed low to keep a small profile as she backed quickly away from the site of the ambush. She knew if the shooter had trouble making the shot at the current distance, the further she moved away the safer she would be. For Kate, it was better to live to fight another day than to die trying to force a confrontation from an unknown assailant. She was better trained than to let her fear and rage overtake her. It was just troubling how easily they were lured into this ambush. She certainly did not want to stick around for whatever else was planned in this assault.

The boy who was killing Chase with the tomahawk has finished his business from the sound of the cannon and was looking directly at her. Kate squared her shoulders and positioned herself to fight if the foolish boy decided to charge. The spear she carried could beat the tomahawk in her opinion, but what she really feared was the unknown archer in the woods. Her eyes never strayed too long from the shooter's possible position in the woods to which the boy who played the decoy was now moving towards. She suspected that he wasn't even sure where his partner was located. It was right when the boy was between her and the shooter did she see an opportunity to save herself. The shooter would not have a shot if she engaged the boy at this range with him blocking the line of sight. He would most likely hit his partner if he tried to killer at this distance. Kate braced herself for the fight. The boy was brave, but not well trained in combat. She saw her opportunity when Hank began to move towards her.

Suddenly, a loud crash of leaves and branches erupted from the wood line behind Hank. At first, it appeared to Kate that a bush had fallen down into the clearing, but a second later she realized it was a tribute covered in leaves and branches who running out towards her. No wonder she could not see him in the woods. He looked more like a small leafy tree than the shape of a person. Whoever this tribute was, he knew how to camouflage himself very well. She could not make out in the entanglement of brush what he was armed with. She also never took her eyes off of Hank. Two on one was trouble for her and she now realized the weight of her situation. She was not about to fight two tributes who killed almost all of the other careers.

Kate turned to run. To her, survival was the only option at this point. If she could get away, she still had the spear and the knife to fight with later in the games. She had been trained on how to survive in the games for years. Evasion at this point seemed like the best course of action, if she could get away.

Suddenly, it was like someone had knocked the wind out of her. Her breath escaped uncontrollably and Kate felt herself lunge forward, her arms beginning to spread as she collapsed towards the ground. She hit the ground just as she realized a horrible sharp pain on the right side of her back. Kate slid to a stop just a few feet where her legs had given out and the painful rush of adrenalin filled her body as the sharp pain grew more intense as the moment progressed. She now realized she was wounded. The only question was how bad and could she still get away. In a few moments, her situation had gone from good to horrible and she suddenly felt the cold reality that she could die here in Games. For the first time since she was reaped, Kate was scared.

Hank was on her in a flash. Once she was hit with the spear from Mark, Hank knew he had to kick her while she was down. The careers were always to be thought of as lethal as long as they had the ability to struggle and fight. Mark had taught Hank his philosophy on killing Careers the moment he discussed the plan with him. "Rustle them down then put them down," was Hank's way of putting it. Hank immediately kicked the wounded girl in the side of the stomach drawing a hard gasp that might had been a yelp if not for her wound. Kate tried to resist, but found no energy or ability as the piercing pain restrained her movements no matter how hard her mind command the body to move.

"We need her alive," Mark shouted from the direction of Sparkle. He had run past the dead and bloody body of Chase and picked up the long curved blade ax while paying no attention to the fallen tribute it once belonged to. Mark's face was a blank focused gaze. There was no feeling in his expressions. His face only changed when the level of physical activity changed. Hank thought of it as Mark's killing face. It was the expression Mark wore when he killed the two tributes from district two, Cronus and Hera. It was not mean or overpowering, but more like a person quiet in though staring off into the distance. Back home, Mark could easily be read by his expressions, but here in the Arena he was different. Here in the arena, the killing was real and people played for keeps. In place that could drive a person mad, some tributes displayed traits that would never emerge back home in their far off districts.

Mark moved towards the hunched over body of Sparkle as he made his way to Kate. She was trying to recover from the shock of the two arrows that still lay imbedded into her flesh. Seeing Mark approach, she grabbed the only protection she could reach, a long knife that was serrated on one side with a long blade on the other. If she could just get the right opportunity, she could bring one of her would be killers down fast. Sadly it was not to be. In the instant she grabbed the knife and turned to throw, Mark was on her. He drew the ax back to a half cock and swung the blade around still in stride towards Sparkle. She never was able to get the knife back in time to throw it. Sparkle threw her arms up to catch or stop the ax as a reflex, the knife in her right hand attempting to catch the force of the ax.

Mark only though about how heavy the ax felt to swing. He never noticed the dull thud as it hit is target or the feel of flesh being cut. The momentum he threw into the chop pulled him off balance and sent his falling forward into the ground as the ax swung past Sparkle and pulled Mark with it. If he had missed or she was not wounded, this might have certainly been a fatal error for him. As he tumbled behind Sparkle, he quick regained his footing and surveyed the damage he had just inflicted. It horrified him.

Sparkle open her eyes that had clamped shut the second the blade made contact with her flesh. At first it did not seem real. The first few seconds did not even offer any pain or discomfort, only a feeling of disbelief. Then pain slammed into her. Though it seemed unimaginable, the place where both her hands had been raised to protect her was now empty. The space was now filled with two stumps gushing blood. The boy covered in leaves and branches had cut off both hands, the left almost at the elbow and the right at the wrist. "This cannot be happening," she begged herself to believe as she let out a horrifying scream.

Mark was brought out of his calm killing trance by the blood curdling scream. He intended to kill Sparkle with a chop of the ax, but his aim was short. The short swing had mutilated the most deadly tribute in the games, but not killed her. Though he had taken life throughout the day, this wounding made him sick. Not even killing Earl at the start of the games made him want to remotely vomit. As Sparkly thrashed around on the ground with her wounds squirting crimson red, Mark was snapped back into the true horror of the games. Every other kill had been fast, neat, and relatively clean. This was what his mentor referred to as a cold moment. It was the time when things seemed too real and you suddenly know how badly you wish you could just forget everything. Mark could not take his eyes off of the poor girl dying before him. He suddenly did not feel so lucky despite all that had gone right.

Hank had descended on Kate and never saw Mark's actions. Instead, he followed Mark's instructions to keep the wounded girl with the spear in her back alive. Being from district ten, Hank had roped and bound many animals in his youth. Kate would be no different. The shoe laces he had taken from the other fallen tributes made the perfect binding material for tying up the girl. In a matter of moments he had her hands and legs bound together behind her back. The kick to the wounded girl's stomach combined with the wound to eliminate resistance. By the time she had recovered enough to fight, Hank was almost finished. He punched her twice in the back to the head as hard as he could before finishing connecting her bound hands and arms together. It only took a few moments for the entire event to happen. To Hank, this was easier than a roping steer. He did not have a lot of skills to bring into the arena, but roping was now on display for all of Panem to see. He attempted to pull the spear out of bound girls back when he heard the most horrific sound he had ever heard.

Mark was slowly surveying the scene in the clearing. Hank was unnerved by his partner's state of alertness. All the Careers in the clearing were either dead or disabled. What could possibly be wrong? Did the screaming bloody girl snap something inside of his lethal ally? Hank hoped not. He did not want a shell shocked or erratic partner in the arena. Mark had been calm and deliberate up to this point. Sure, his plans did not always seem plausible or sane, but they worked.

"Where is the other one?" Mark screamed.

"What other one," Hank questioned.

"The other tribute from district four?"

"I did not reckon anyone else but these fellers when I came out of the woods." Hank was trying to ignore the horror that lay next to Mark. Sparkle had turned herself over with her hips and was trying to crawl on her stomach towards Mark. She was not really using her stumps, but rather shifting her hips and shoulders to make distance. Blood was staining all over the ground where she moved. She was still screaming when Mark move just a little to his side to increase the distance between them.

"We need to make sure. I don't want to have to fight a well trained and equipped career. If he is alive, he must know who he is up against now. Surprise is lost Hank, surprise…" Mark's words trailed off as he became more excited and lost his focused composure. He took a few more steps away from Sparkle as he surveyed the wood line for adversaries. Moments before, he was the hunter and now he just might have become the prey.

"Dam it! Ask the girl you have there. Hell if I know if she wants to be nice, but do it." Mark was getting frustrated. Sparkles screams were wearing on both of them. Mark was in his killing zone. He was totally mission focused and did not want to waste time on playing mind games with those he had ambushed. Utility killing, as his father called it, was on his mind.

Mark could see Hank trying to be aggressive with the bound girls, but as he approached he knew that Hank was getting little from her. Mark was not about to play games with his captive. He never planned to be cruel, but he also knew that if the moment called for it, he would do what was necessary. Mark knew he could be creative in getting the information out of her. He wouldn't start slow or play mind games to make it easier on his own squeamish reservation. Rather, Mark knew that if you started all out you had the best chance to get the information quick. The though repulsed him, but he knew what the games called for and what ultimately was at stake. His only comfort was his victim was a career, someone he utterly hated.

"Do me a favor," Mark sent an evil look to Hank, "finish the screamer off." Mark's voice was cold and heartless. It sent chills down Hank's back to hear his partner talk like that. Hank thought that maybe Mark was different than the trained killers who they now were disposing of, but the last few moments made him fear who he had aligned himself with. Hank walked over to Sparkle who had stopped screaming. She was pale and was laboring for breath. The blood loss had taken a toll on her as she struggle to survive. She knew the end was near, the only question for her was how she would die. Even in death her arrogance imbedded itself in her thoughts. Would these to upstarts kill her quick or make it slow and painful? Would they make an example of her in front of all of Panem? Was there still a change to somehow survive this? Not likely her mind told her. The best she could ask for was a quick death.

Hank walked over to her and picked up the wood ax Sparkle has brandished only minutes ago to kill him with. He looked down at the blood stained ground all around the dying girl and heard the fait sounds of her trying to breath despite the pain. Sparkle had rolled over to her left side and her right arm still moved slightly from side to side. The severe blood lose had taken all the fight out of her. Though she was still alive, to Hank she appeared to be almost dead. She had stopped screaming and that was what Mark wanted stopped. Why should he have to kill this girl when time was about to take care of it itself? He stood over her looking down at her blood stained clothes. She was a horror show of gore laying there. She turned her head slightly up to face her would be killer and gave him a look of contempt. The streaks of her own blood crossed her cheeks and covered her forehead. In these last few moments, she would not grant such an undeserving tribute any respect.

Hank swung the ax back and began to deliver the death blow to the most fearsome tribute in the games.


	12. Chapter 11: Time to Kill, Time to Die

"I'm not saying you are lying just yet. I would just think about what you are telling me, because things will get really nasty if you are not correct." Mark was clearly patronizing the bound and wounded girl. He sat next to her with his elbows on his knees surveying the wood line with his back to Hank and Sparkle.

"He's dead, really, really. You'll see tonight when they show us all the fallen tributes," Kate was pleading with him. She knew that the boy from district three meant business.

"You've told me this, but I just don't believe it." Mark appeared to be losing his patience. "It's a great story to tell me, really it is. You expect me to believe he was killed by the girl from eleven during the opening moments, but all sounds a little too unrealistic to me. She was a runt and not really the hand to hand killing type." Mark was growing tired of her already. "Like I said, if you are lying to me I'll rip the truth out of you. Hank over there may be the gentle type, but I think I can do what is necessary." Mark looked down into her face with a scowl of anger.

"You'll see. I promise." The girl was covering in her speech at the aggression in Mark's threats.

"I never really saw someone burn to death. I figure the large fire was use burn the supplies we don't need could really be useful in cooking you slowly. That's just one idea though. I sure I could come up with more. It'll make great entertainment for the fans." His eyes pierced deep into her and his voice filled with sadistic rage. He meant every word and was prepared to do it if necessary. In the end though, if given the choice between a slow painful death and giving a few details about her district partner, she would talk. If he had not tried to save her by the time Mark had to interrogate her, what ally was her district partner of hers? Mark just hoped she was telling the truth though.

"You know I wanted you to join us , but…"

"Stop. Just stop. Just shut the hell up and stop the talking. I don't give a dam about what you wanted or what you are claiming. We'll see tonight. Till then, just shut the hell up." Mark was growing tired of the girl trying to plead her case.

"I don't think you noticed, but this is the Games. All bets are off in a place like this. If you want to test me, I'll get started right now. I'm sure a screaming tribute will make great viewing. If you don't want to play that game, then just relax and enjoy the day." Mark never lost his angry composure with his captive. Kate eyes began to tear. For one of the so called killers of the games, she was showing her weakness. Sure, this boy from three had dressed the wound he inflicted, but the thought of keeping her alive to torture her for information terrified her. She just hoped that once he had no use for her he would end her fast if she could not escape. Dying badly was terrifying even to a career like her. The games were designed to inflict horror on its participants. She knew that mercy here was sometimes a quick death.

Hank approached the two with slow strides. The ax he had wielded over Sparkle was now resting on his right shoulder. He walked with his head was down with a shameful glare to the ground. Mark knew that what Hank had done was probably hard for him. Killing is never easy when you think about it. Mark had dispensed of all his rivals today, but all were in the heat of the moment. He did not have to kill anyone not considered an immediate threat. Those he killed with the tomahawk were done in moments of great excitement and the focused purpose of battle, not cold blooded murder. He never considered what he had asked Hank to do for him. Having to walk over to a wounded girl clearly not a threat and end her life must have seemed cold. Mark was too busy trying to intimidate Kate when he told Hank to kill Sparkle instead of really thinking though the scenario like he had done thought out the day. Mark wondered how he would kill Kate when the time came and how Hank would react. As Hank approached, Mark stood up to talk to Hank.

"I couldn't do it," Hank said to the ground.

"It's alright, murder is different than killing," Mark reassured his partner and stood up to put and hand on his partner's shoulder. "Let it go for now and watch her," pointing down to Kate.

"No, I really thought I could do it. I killed the boy from one in the fighting, but she is so helpless and…" His words trailed off.

"Let it go. Just pull the girl to the supplies. We need to stop and prepare. There may be one more career out there and we need to be ready." Mark's voice had shifted to a calm and understanding friend. He knew what Hank was trying to tell him. Mark just wanted to make sure that Hank understood it was OK.

"But," Hank tried to interject. The boys stood face to face. Mark had dropped his intimidating posture and tried to reassure his partner that things were alright.

"I'll take care of it. Just get her moved then starting taking stock of what we have." Mark turned and walked to the dying body of Sparkle with a determined stride of someone who was taking care of business. He didn't like the position they were in so close to the wood line and he needed to focus to get them into a more manageable position. Sure, they had just accomplish a lot, but it could all be lost if they were not vigilant.

Before he approached Sparkle, Mark went to the dead body of Chase and used his jacket to tie the weapons around Chase to his body. Once Mark moved away, he knew that the hovercraft would pick the body up and anything attached to him. The more weapons Mark did not need that were removed from the arena, the less the other tributes had to use against him. If one thing was stressed by his mentor, it was to always take advantage of a situation for your benefit and against you fellow tributes. Dead tributes removed supplies easier than any other method. Before leaving, Mark folded Chase's hands and said his goodbye. Mark knew that Sparkle could see him.

He sat down facing the wood line next to Sparkle. As he spoke, he never stopped searching for threats. Though he was about to kill the girl, he did not forget that any moment he could be the next to die.

"I feared you more than any other tribute, but that doesn't matter now. Even in your last moments you don't respect me. That doesn't matter now either." Marks voice was low and his tone was kind. "What does matter is that a lowly kid from district three just took out all of the most feared tributes in the first hours. As you die I want you to remember that because I always hated the way you career tributes operated. You are bullies who pick on the weak and I never liked bullies. I have been bullied a lot in my life, but today I stuck back. Remember that as you fade away. "

Mark turned his gaze from the wood line to Sparkle's face. The girl was so weak from the blood loss that she could not look away, but Mark knew that she heard every word he said. It was the fade away comment that made her angry. Was he going to talk her to death. The hate swelled up in her. She was a career from district one and now this upstart was lecturing her. Thoughts of disbelief that that dissipated after she realized the severity of her wounds now came roaring back. How could this happen to her? This was her year to be crowned victor or the games. The other careers were not nearly as strong and Chase had weakness she was certain she could exploit. To die like this was embarrassing and shameful as far as she was concerned. To make matters worse, he was now lecturing her and gloating over his trophy kill. She just wished he would get it over with and begin whatever slow death he had planned. She knew she was about to die, but fading away as he talked down to her was the lowest she could imagine. People back home, including her family, were watching this embarrassing public humiliation. If she was to die, she wanted to die like a career.

She thought about what her mother must be thinking. When she came to say goodbye she did not even have a hint of sorrow in her words. Her mom did not deliver a feel good pep talk, but rather spoke the plain truth that she would be the tribute to watch during the games. The years of demonstrated ability were about to be brought into practice. Though some tributes viewed being reaped as a death sentence, for her it was to be a blessing and an honor. Some of the best tributes never were picked from district one. This year, he mother assured her that the reaping got it right. Even her childhood friend Rory, who she was sure would marry her someday, had no doubts. He openly told her that if he was reaped he probably not come back. He had known his limitations, but knew she had none. She was something special. Their life together after she won the games would be a fairy tale. Now, in her final moments, all Sparkle could do was rage in her dying mind about what had happened to her.

She could barley breath when Mark rolled her onto her back and crossed what was left of her arms across her chest. As she struggled for her last breath, tears streamed down her face. She knew this was it. She was not going to die a career's death in battle or a fight, but rather this sneaky thief was simply going to let her slip away. He stole her victory and now he was stealing her pride. She exhaled that last breath and slipped away. The cannon sounded and Mark said his goodbyes. The biggest threat to him was now gone and in a few moments she would be forgotten as he lived on. Mark knew that no matter what your score, how vicious you appeared, or what was expected of you, once you died in the games you were forgotten very fast. Mark wondered if Sparkle's tears were the realization of this fact. Mark slowly stood up, tied the ax, the bow and the knife to her body with her own shoe laces and walked back to Hank. Sparkle was one more dead tribute in the endless slaughter and Mark had the living to attend to. Before he even reached his partner and their prisoner, the hovercraft removed the bodies of the tributes from district one.


	13. Chapter 12: They Laughed at My Death

Two backpacks with five days of food a piece and miscellaneous survival gear lay neatly packed on the ground. Also included in each packs were few days of water, a ponchos, a blanket, and a sweater to insulate from the cold. Two spears, two serrated combat knives, two utility survival knives, two tomahawks, and a bow with ten arrows lay nearly arranged next to them. This was all that Mark and Hank would take away from the cornucopia. The two worked diligently to organize their supplies for upcoming days. They would live comfortable and be well prepared to fight as a reward for their efforts in killing the Careers. Mark knew that the bow he possessed would be the most lethal weapon in the arena now and he planned to possess it till his time fighting was over. The only other bow in the arena had left with the body of Sparkle. Once they left the clearing, they never really expected to return there. Whatever they left behind could be used by other tributes and Mark was not about to give anyone assistance or help outside of his small alliance. With what they carried, they could move fast and be lethal without having to spend too much time over the next few days worrying too much about basic survival.

Kate just laid on her side bound as the two boys worked. She began to notice the differences in her two captors. The boy from three was deliberate, meticulous and always on guard while the boy from ten followed orders and was more concerned about present needs. If she got free, she had to kill Mark first to have any chance of survival. He was the mastermind of this trap, she was sure of it and that made him the most deadly tribute still left in the arena. Though disregarded by most of the Careers as not skilled enough for inclusion into their pact, all these actions were too well planned and executed to be just a fast learner since the reaping. Mark was prepared long before he was reaped to pull off such a dramatic coup.

Hank was a different story to Kate. He was the kind of tribute who was just trying to survive long enough to maybe get lucky near the end. A kid like Hank in her opinion was either slaughtered by the careers, died from exposure due to poor survival skills, or was killed by one of the sadistic creations of the gamemakers. He was the tribute whose luck usually ran out sooner or later. He was the one she needed to work on to joint their alliance. To Kate, Hank was the weak link.

Kate saw the skill to dressing and sewing up her wound was remarkable for someone from a non-career district. Mark wanted her to live, but for how long? She would have surly made it to the announcement of the fallen tonight with just a dressing on the wound, but Mark went further. Was he trying to build a larger alliance? His present partner was not a trained kill, but she was. If she played it right, maybe she could work with them until the final tributes and then turn the tables. Once they saw her district partner was dead, she assumed that it was either time to make an ally or time to kill her. She desperately hoped for the former, but the organization of their supplies worried her. It was only configured for two, not three.

"How's you back?" Mark sat down next Kate and rested back on his elbows.

"Hurts, like it should," her voice was nonchalant and uncaring, "but I think it could be a lot worse. I've never been wounded like that. It took me by surprise." She knew she had to be calm and kind. Mark was not talking to her for no particular reason, this calculating killer had intentions.

"It's going to be a hell of a fire tonight. All those supplies burning will attract attention, but I really don't think the survivors out there will be too curious. If they are smart, they are very far from here." Mark was friendly with his approach. He had no need to be aggressive in his opinion. If she was lying, he would do what needed to be done to get information. No need to start conflict where there was no need for it.

"I'm gonna rustle me up some rack for now. You fixin' to need anything else from me?" Hank asked.

"No, we are where we need to be. If her friend is out there and gets brave, I'll wake you," Mark answered.

Hank grabbed a blanket form the pile of supplies, grabbed a huge drink of water and laid down. Never in his wildest imagination did he think he would be in such a position. He was going to sleep in a position of security and not afraid of dying in his sleep. As he dozed off, he silently said a prayer to his god thanking him for sparing him and providing him with an ally like Mark. Though Hank did not fully trust him, Mark was his best bet to get home.

"Thirsty?" Mark asked Kate.

After a cautions nod, Mark propped the bound girl up and helped her have a drink. At first she sipped slightly as to just have a taste, but as Mark kept raising the container so she could get more, she began to gulp. She was so parched and this was like a gift from a sponsor, but instead it was a gesture of kindness from a possible sadistic captor. This action frightened Kate. How can someone so nice be prepared to do such horrible things to her? She needed to make her case to be an ally, and fast.

"You know he's dead, I don't know how…" she began.

"Stop. Stop again, please. You already told me this and it's getting old. I'm really not in the mood for it right now. He we are, safe in the clearing, well fed and hydrated, the sun is warm and the grass is soft. Why do you want to ruin the moment with business we will deal with later." Mark was strangely comedic in his delivery.

"Let's not think about what may or may not have to happen. Let's enjoy the time. Let's eat, drink and enjoy life. I'm about to celebrate personally. I just annihilated the Careers in one afternoon. I think that calls for a little celebration, no offense." Mark sounded almost mad to her.

"Do I have a choice?" She asked.

"Not if you don't want to enjoy the afternoon. Let's enjoy the madness of the moment and not contemplate how we got here or what is to come later. We could all be dead soon, let's enjoy this." His voice was too cheerful. Mark was scaring her with his attitude and he knew it.

"Can I asked you something?" she reluctantly asked.

"Fire away, no pun intended."

"How did you get so good? Your district doesn't train children for the games, so what is your secret?"

Mark laughed. He had no intention about talking about his preparations. It was forbidden for districts to train kids, but everyone knew some districts did. That's how the careers became so lethal. These districts were treated well by the Capitol, so a blind eye was turned to the preparations. In district two, supposedly it was mandatory because the bulk of the peace keepers came from that district. It was no wonder that year after year, the highest scores, the most sadistic kills, and the tributes to watch came from two. District one was a smaller district, but they produced the second best tributes followed by district four. Combined, the tributes from these three districts always led the slaughter at the start, controlled the supplies, and became the hunters of the weak. Mark always felt it unfair that these tributes could have such a great advantage, but he knew the Capitol loved the carnage they produced. The games were not about fairness, but rather an opportunity for the districts to hate one another. To Mark, the kids from the poorest districts were nothing more than lambs to the slaughter. Sure, they had their winners, but they were very few and far between compared to the career districts.

Mark finally answered with the only response he knew would not raise any suspicions on his family or friends.

"I was going to be an engineer. We're a pretty inventive group." He said with a smirk.

"That does not answer the question," she said with a flirt.

"Honestly, I studied the games for a couple of year just in case I ever was reaped. Luck for me now, huh? I also had an uncle by marriage who was a victor. He's my mentor now. He spent a lot of time when I visited him back home filling my head and his three daughters' heads with all he knew. He was pretty determined to pass on his knowledge for the unfortunate instance that we were reaped."

"Still that doesn't explain you skills. No one gets that good to execute an ambush on the first try." She was prying now. Mark knew she was trying to get information to help her. Though she was at a disadvantage, she was working to find a way to gain ground on her captor. Mark also knew that others were listing, including the powers that be in the Capitol. He was prepared for this. Uncle Joe saw a moment like this long before he did. What Mark would tell her was well rehearsed and mostly truthful, but with a twist. Better to deceive your opponent and not arouse the suspicions of the Capitol then to show all your abilities. Uncle Joe made him rehearse this story and deviations of it many times as he prepared for the games while in the Capitol. The other mentor, Mrs. D, tested him on his ability to stick with the story. Together, they groomed Mark for the very real possibility of having to pull off a rouse to keep him and others safe. Also, Mark needed sympathy from sponsors to survive. A tribute that emerges strong, but has an underdog story always plays well with those sympathetic sponsors who can afford to send gifts for their new favorite tribute.

"The truth is," Mark let out a long breath, "this is going to sound a little weird, but we might be dead soon so who gives a dam. I'm actually the kind of kid who is considered sort of odd." Mark looked at her with a regretful and pleading look.

"Ok." The reply from Kate was cautious. The response hung between them for a moment and Mark continued.

Mark began the story when he was eight. He knew that his mom's sister had married a victor who was a childhood friend of his dad, but he never really understood what the games entailed till that year. When he was younger he never really paid attention to the games, but at the age of eight he watch. That year he saw the nauseating deaths of several tributes at the hands of others. He watched in horror as one tribute was slowly picked apart by a swarm of rats when she had fallen weak from lack of food. He even saw the boy from his district die a bloody screaming death at the hands of two careers. The screams of those kids and the knowledge that he could end up like them terrified Mark. He never saw the world the same after watching those games. That much of the story he had rehearsed was true. The deception is what was now going to follow. Mark looked off into the distance and began his half truths.

"It was my uncle's bow he was given as a gift once he won the games. That's where I learned to shoot. My older cousin and I would spend hours in the backyard of their house shooting targets. It was the one thing that I really looked forward to when we visited them." Mark's lines were heartfelt. Part of this was actually true, most of it was not. He did look forward to shooting the bow, but it was all of the cousins who were shooting and it wasn't just for fun. Looking forward to shooting was the only part of the story that was fact.

The real reason the kids shot archery was to prepare for the possibility of being reaped. This training wasn't just with bows and arrows either. Uncle Joe was going to be dammed if he would allow his children to go to the games unprepared like he was. Mark's father approached his uncle shortly after those games when Mark was eight to ask him to help his children. Joe never forgot what Mark's family had done for him and had no problem including Mark and his sister. Spears, knives, tomahawks, blow guns, swords, and other home made weapons were taught. No one who lived around Uncle Joe's house ever asked questions. The other victors who lived in the huge houses in the victor's circle actually liked seeing close kin prepare for the possibility of being reaped. The district three victors were a tight knit group. Though it was usually only Mark, his sister and his three cousins, sometimes a child or two of other victors would show up to play along. It was all trial and error most of the time, but as time passed, all of the kids gained a certain level of skill. Mark emerged as more of a hunter than a strait up fighter, but he was still considered well equipped to handle himself.

One victor that took notice was a man named Beetee. Though he was not very skilled as a tribute, he outsmarted the other tributes to win his games. Sometimes, he would drop in on the training and teach the kids complex strategies like game theory and intelligence preparation of a fighting environment. Beetee was thought of as the brain trust among the victors. It was rumored that Mrs. D was his extension into the world of the mentors. She was the more sociable aspect of the two. Beetee did the assessments and Mrs. D did the grooming of the tributes. Beetee had accompanied them to the capitol this year, but Mark hardly ever saw him. Mark always wondered just why Beetee was here, but dismissed the thought due to his own preparations for the games. None of this Mark decided to reveal to Kate.

Mark told about how he was slated to be an engineer by his performance in school. He explained that kids like him were thought of as a waste if they were reaped. Mark wanted nothing more than to work designing technology for the Capitol. He had the knack for electrical and mechanical things. Mark could out think physical problems and apply classroom theory to overcome real world problems. He was identified early and situation in school to be groomed. Most engineers who were reaped simply did not have the skills to survive, but he wanted to be different. He played chess while others played checkers. Mark also knew that if you can't keep you opponent from smashing the playing board, your abilities was worthless.

As Mark began to tell about his engineering experience and training he knew he had Kate convinced. This was theater and he was putting on a winning performance.

Mark continued to tell about learning to hunt and trap the rats that sometimes ran loose in the district. This is how he claimed to learn ambushes. Again, this was partially true. The Capitol never really cared if district citizens killed the rats. They were a nuisance. To the enterprising citizen of district three, rats also offered an extra source of food. What Mark did not tell Kate was how his father taught him and others how to trap other animals using a variety of methods. These entire lessons were passed down from the prior generation. These lessons were the same skills that helped sustain Uncle Joe in those hard years before he won the games. Mark loved the thrill of the hunt too. The small wooded areas that existed in the district provided Mark days of enjoyment as he honed his skills on prey. He learned to be patient and choose the hunting ground carefully. Like his uncle who taught the kids fighting, Mark's father instructed the rest of the kids on hunting and trapping. Add to that the game theory that Beetee would pass on to the kids, and you had an effective group of possible tributes. All that Mark had accomplished that day was a result of what he had been taught years before. Just like the Careers, he was groomed for the possibility of the Games.

Every year as the games approached, training always picked up. What for most of the year was a weekly event became a daily task. Mark spent additional time working out to stay strong and fit starting in the winter. The extra food that the kids caught helped bulk them up. Uncle Joe's family did not have to worry about food. The Capitol had made him rich in his victory and food was always plentiful. Mark's family lived like most other families in district three, week to week and sometimes day to day. The gathered food, though illegal, always helped greatly. The family kept it secret and never openly showed their extra source to anyone, but Mark and his sister had grown solid with the added protein that most kids did not have. Mark knew hunger from time to time. Once in a while food was scarce, but it taught him what lack of food was like. Hunger provided a greater motivation to hunt for food and it honed his skills that one day he would not just need to fight in the Games, but also survive the leaner times in district three. Those circumstance and opportunities had prepared him for the games. Fate had brought him to the arena and luck would hopefully bring him home. His mother always reminded him that chance favors the most prepared.

Kate looked at Mark with a gaze of belief. He had hoped he had not just convinced her, but also those who were watching in the Capitol. His preparations needed to sound plausible, but not detailed enough to show his true preparations. Later, Mark knew he would have to convince Hank and it had to be word for word the same. This story was about image and image attracted attention, both good and bad. A good image won sponsors and saves lives. A bad image banished sponsors and drew the evil attention of the Capitol. His mentors had prepared him well for this moment and Mark was sure he had passed. The only question now, could his mentors turn this momentum into sponsor gifts?

Mark decided to add the perfect finish to this tale. He would not need to deceive or embellish. All Mark would need to do is speak the honest to god truth from his own life experience. With what he gained in his killing skills earlier in the day, he now would double his fortune in the story that he would finish off. A killer with compassionate story, sponsors loved that sort of thing. Mark knew how to play it up too. He wouldn't even mention the daily hardships in the district. No, the story Mark would tell would be so much more potent. He would take a swing at those who made him an outcast growing up. Those who laughed at the reaping were now to be publically called out for all of Panem to see. Mark knew he might not live to see them again, but he was going to use them for his own gains here in the arena and embarrass them back home all in the same breath.

"It's hard when you are different. When just a few kids think you are weird, it can spread like a disease till a minor quirk makes you an outcast." Mark was cold and hateful in his speech. Mrs. D had made him rehearse this speech twice the night the scores were announced to perfect it. As Stacy screamed about the scores being unfair and how Mark did not deserve to be ranked so high, his mentors saw motivation for preparing their promising tribute.

Mark grew up in a loving home. He was the son of a baker and his mom was a nurse with a younger sister to complete the family. They were the average family in district three. As a kid, Mark took to science like a fish to water. He also had a healthy sense of adventure. His father had taught him how to swim in the river that ran though the district and Mark spent hours exploring the areas that were not tightly held off limits. He was a free spirit, an individual and never dependent on being in crowds with others. As a boy, friends came and went. Still, Mark's love of engineering and adventure defined him. This independence made him a target when his peers noticed he was being groomed for greater jobs as he got near his teens. When it became clear Mark would move up over others who thought themselves high and mighty, he quickly became an outcast. Those who harbored jealousy quickly turned their sights on the young boy with promise. Mark did not back down from their treatment though. Instead, he fought back all the time. He would fight with anyone who dare lay a hand on him, but usually others would join in against Mark and he would be on the losing side. This was where he developed the true hatred for the careers. To Mark, they were no better than the conceded bullies he grew up with. Even now, after Mark had killed them in the arena, his hate for the careers never really left him.

As Mark moved into his teens, his abilities put him high on the list of potential engineers and scientists, but not near the top. A former victor and scientist named Beetee told Mark that he was very good, but not great. Mark would be moved along, but not fast tracked like some others. This did not discourage him. He was grateful he would not be among the ranks of the normal factoyr workers or technicians in the district. Rather, Mark would be taught to work in areas that would provide him greater reach for his abilities, just not exactly what he had hoped for. In the grand scheme of things, Mark would be near the top of the pile, just not the very top. The assurance of security for Mark and a place in society in a district where some people struggle to survive separate him from other kids. It drew their rage for him. .

Mark's advanced class mates were in the same situation as him. The difference between him and the other advanced kids was his classmates hid away and waited till they could finish school and leave their current social state. Mark raged back at those who mocked him. He never was one to take the bile that others spat at him. Mark always hated bullies. He would stand up for those in the advanced classes when the others kids would pick on them for the same reasons as Mark. He was mean and vicious when backed into a corner. That was the one quality that Mrs. D always looked for when she saw her tributes. She wanted a tribute with spirit and Mark did not even realize how much he had. He always though he was weak and easy to pick off. Deep down though, Mark thought this perceived weakness was why his peers zeroed in on him. In fact, Mark drew the most attention because he was not weak and would not take what hate others shoveled on him.

When the day of the reaping occurred, Mark stood in the square with all the others kids who could be picked. Flanked on all sides by the students for the advanced classes, he just wanted to get this anxious day over with. He knew that if he was the unfortunate name, he was prepared. Mark had trained for the unfortunate circumstance for years. What really frightened him was hearing his younger sister's name be called. Seeing her go off to the games might be just as horrible as him having to go himself. He knew he could accept his fate, but having to watch her go would be worse. He stared at the scared faced of his classmates and offered a carefree smile to break the mood. When the moment came for the reaping though, Mark went stoic.

It almost did not seem real when he heard his name. It was like watching himself from the outside. Suddenly, he snapped back to his preparations. All of Panem, including his competition, would see this moment and he knew it. Mark suddenly bust into a victory cheer and threw his arms up like he had just won a great prize. He looked determined and excited, but inside he was terrified. The time for sadness and tears had not come yet.

As Mark moved to the stage, the one thing that would solidify his resolve started around him. It was the laughter. The kids who mocked him and bullied him were now laughing at him as he went to his death. Some pointed and some made faces. It was horrifying to him. They were actually happy he was going to die. He had never seen this in all his years at the reaping. One boy, named Joseph, even made a sliting motion with his finger across his own neck and pointed at Mark. The peace keepers arrived just as Mark was about to attack the boy. Mark kept up the celebration act throughout the whole event. He would have been dammed if these kids would tarnish his chances. The horror of being reaped was nothing compared to the laughter of the kids happy he was going to the Games. As the peace keepers escorted him on stage, Mark used all his strength not to lash out at the other kids.

When Mark arrived on stage he hugged the woman form the Capitol, named Elictre, who reaped the names. Mark then pointed and cheered at the crowd. It all seemed quite mad. With both hands raised high in the air, he continued to salute the crowd until Elictre and to ask him to calm down so she could find who the "lucky" girl would be. No one could remember when a tribute had ever acted remotely like this before. Some people thought that he had lost his mind and had a total breakdown the moment his name was announced. In truth, he was told to look confident and ready, not sad and pathetically weak like most tributes from non Career district when their names are called. Mark just took it a little too far. Most of the celebration Mark himself admited was because of what the others kids did to him that day. The more over the top he was, the less the kids laughter would bother him. The one thing Mark's mind kept screaming out, "no matter who's name is reaped next, you do not celebrate."

When Stacy's name was called, she immediately broke down into tears. Not a good way to send a message of strength to Panem. She just stood there in her place in the crowd till peace keepers came and escorted the reluctant girl to the stage. Mark just could not feel sorry for the girl who just a moment ago was laughing at his death sentence. Her curly brown hair hung over part of her face as Elictre displayed her on stage to the district and the country alike. As the two tributes were made to shake hands, Mark gave another wave to the crowd and pointed.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you your brave tributes from district three." Elictre's words were full of cheer and celebration. On a day like today, no one celebrated their own good luck until the tributes left the train station out of respect for those sent to die. This year, Mark had been so disgraced by his peers that he started the celebration early.

As he passed by the microphone stand, Mark grabbed the mike, pointed to the crowd and said in a cheerful by slightly mean voice, "So long district three, and thanks for all the fun." The mad smile he displayed shocked everyone. Stacy burst into tears. People in the crowd jaw's dropped. Kids put their heads down in shame. Mark was going to die, but he was dammed if his persecutors would ever get the last word on him.

Once he had left the stage and began to walk to the justice building, the adrenalin of the moment wore off. The bravado of the reaping was gone and Mark now realized that kids were actually going to enjoy seeing one of their own die. Usually it was utter silence during the reaping, but today jeers and laughter filled the crowd of children. Hate and bulling happened among kids, but not at a time like the reaping. He was being sent away to die horribly and the kids of his district were glad. It shocked him and made him suddenly afraid of his fate. When he died and they showed highlights of his performance, the laughter would be shown too. That's how he would be remembered, the kid who everyone wanted to die. In his typical fashion, Mark tried to find a bright spot, but all he could think of was soon he would be dead and not have to ever see those kids again. In this moment of darkness and despair, Mark knew that the only way he could fight the injustice of the laughs was to win. It was in that moment that he was ready for the games. There was no time for tears in his mind, only preparation. Sadness had turned to pure determination.

When he was finished with his story of the reaping, Mark let a long silence pass between Kate and him.

"I reckon you as more dangerous now than when we first meet." Hank spoke as he sat up from his little sleeping space. He had been listening to part of Mark's story. Unable to fall back asleep, Hanks was curious of just how his partner became so lethal.

"I'm real sorry pal. That's down right evil what those yeller kids did to yah," Hank apologized as he moved over to Mark and Kate. "I'm sorry to ease in on your tellin her your story, but I couldn't seem to tucker out once I woke up. I reckon you didn't have reason to be so cold after you killed sometimes. I actually just reckoned you were nuts. I reckon I know better now." Hank let the words linger a little bit before finishing. "I'm also fixin to guess that they ain't laughin no how no way at yah now." Hank's words were not comforting to Mark, but they did let him know that his story had an effect. Mark only hoped that effect translated into sponsor gifts somehow.

Finally, Mark spoke to Stacy in a tone like the story he had just told was to be forgotten. The effect was sobering to the trio.

"So, tell me about home," Mark asked Kate.

Kate began to speak, but Mark only was trying to by time. Soon he would need to switch out with Hank and get some rest. Night would bring its own challenges and he knew he needed to be fresh. As Kate spoke about the sea, her family and fishing nets, Mark planned the next day. He had to assume a role he was not really comfortable with, hunting the weak. At the start of the games, it was easy for him to kill those who he viewed as bullies and represented those who tormented him. Killing Earl had not been easy, but Mark took it as a survival action. There were far deadlier tributes still afoot in the games when he first killed. Now, he would have to become what he hated if he wanted to go home. He was the most dangerous tribute as far as he was concerned now. Mark knew that if he was successful in killing the careers this would happen. No matter how he tried to justify it, the ugly truth was that the Games were going to consume him in its web of horrors before it was all over. He also came to terms with the fact that for all intensive purposes, he was the careers now.


	14. Chapter 13: Loose Ends

Mark woke from his short nap to see that darkness had fallen. The air had become cool and crisp to complement the fall landscape. True, it was chilly, but not freezing. If he had to make a wager, Mark would be certain to bet that this would be one of the warmest nights in the games. Slowly, the temperature would drop as the games went on. It was typical of the gamemakers to turn the conditions more severe as time passed. It increased the suffering of the tributes and motivated them to aggressively kill each others to end their own suffering. Mark was all too aware that the Capitol wanted him to die slowly here in the arena, but he also knew that they would not allow a victory to happen too fast. This was the show that they waited for all year. It had to last the right amount of time for the powers that be to enjoy it.

Standing up then walking over to Hank and Kate, he received a bland update that nothing had happened since he fell asleep. The two were just about to feast on the dried fruit, bread and beef jerky they had discovered in the large amount of supplies of the cornucopia. By day break, whatever had not been secured in their packs would be eliminated in the large fire they were about to light. Mark had no intention of leaving anything for other tributes.

As the trio ate, Hank feed Kate her portions. Her hands were still bound behind her back, but while Mark slept, Hank cut the shoe laces that connected her wrist to her legs. Though her legs were still bound tight, it gave her a little more movement, but not enough to make her free. She had behaved since her capture and kept insisting that when night fell and the fallen were announced, her district partner would be among them. She had made her case to both Mark and Hank for an alliance with them. All the Careers were dead and a new hunting pack could take the remaining tributes by surprise. The more they worked together, the less chance they had of being outwitted by the tributes that were low on supplies, training, and ability. Kate also knew that if she could not convince the boys of her use, she was doomed.

During the meal, Mark was on constant guard from threats from the wood line. Unlike Hank, he could not stay relaxed in the present state. Even in the position he was in, his paranoia about threats to him and his alliance ran though his head. The teachings of his mentor were constantly being review. Mark knew that right now Uncle Joe and Mrs. D were watching him and critiquing him. Mark felt a heavy weight to not let them down by miss handling simple tasks. Mark did not want to fall prey to the same sense of invincibility that the careers were killed by.

Once the three had their fill, Hank leaned back to enjoy the moment. To be full and happy the first night of the Games did not seem real. He envisioned that he would be cold, starving and terrified for his life on this opening night. Hank silently thanked the god he prayed to for such good fortune so far in the Games. He reveled in the thought that this meal would repeat itself tomorrow morning before they set out on their hunt. From then on, the alliance would have to rely on what they had packed or could find. His only complaint was that Mark made him drink a lot of water to top off his hydration. The more saturated he became, the more time he had to take a piss. Those constant trips annoyed him, but Hank knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. Their pack only carried a day to a day and half worth or water. In three days from they could be struggling from dehydration. Hank took Mark's advice and prepared for the long fight ahead.

The silence of the post meal was broken by anthem of Panem. The sound blared from the sky as the seal of the nation illuminated the sky overhead. This was the moment of truth that Kate anxiously awaited. She became visibly nervous as the music played. Thoughts of horror flashed though her head as she contemplated the worst possible scenarios to arise from the announcement of the fallen. She knew the Capitol was cruel, but would they withhold the name of her district partner just to see her captors torture her to death? When the boys did see her partner's face, would they kill her out right or would they make a show of it? She assumed Hank would not have the stomach for it, but she recognized the potential in Mark for cruelty. She quieted her mind by telling herself that they would offer her a part in their alliance. She was pretty sure that Mark would need her hunting skills to track down the few that did remain over such a large expanse of land.

When the anthem had finished, the pictures and names of those who were killed on day one started to appear where the symbol of the nation had once been. The names and faced appeared in district order. One after the other they flashed up for the tributes to see. This was the time for all those competing to take stock in what had happened and who they were still up against. This was the time to assess what to do. Most of the tributes would be shocked to see almost all of the Careers were dead. Some of the tributes who were cold, hungry and scared took comfort in the fact that the worst killers were dead. The smart tributes knew that whatever killed the careers would soon come for them. These smart kids did not take too much comfort in the careers' deaths.

One by one Hank, Mark and Kate watched the names and faces appear. First, the tributes from district on and two appeared with their evil and smug looks. Then, Mark's partner from his own district, Stacy, appeared. Mark hardly batted an eye or felt a moment of sorrow for the girl. Stacy wanted Mark to die and degraded him up until they left the Capitol for the arena. Stacy would not be given another though after tonight from her district partner. Hank noticed the cold and emotionless face of Mark when Stacy appeared in the sky. Hank almost wanted to say something, but decided to stay quiet. No words of sympathy or condolence were necessary since Hank already knew the back story of Mark's contempt for his district partner.

Then a face appeared that made Mark grim. It was Fredrick, the district four male tribute. Kate had been telling the truth the entire time. Kate could not tell if the smile on Mark's face was for the relief of not having to interrogate her or because a chief rival was dead. Either way, Stacy was glad she had been vindicated. Her anxiety of what they boys would do to interrogate her was now over. She exhaled a small sigh of relief and gave a sorrowful nod for her fallen district tribute. This day had not gone to plan and her feelings of sorrow for Fredrick were more regret for herself than they were for the dead boy. Soon, Stacy knew the moment of truth would be upon her. Would she be killed or would she join this unorthodox alliance?

In addition to the Careers, twelve other tributes died. In total, sixteen tributes were killed on the first day. Adding to the career kills were the two tributes from district five, the boy from six, the boy from seven, the two tributes from eight, Earl from district nine, Hank's district partner from ten, the girl from eleven who was tortured to death by the careers, and the girl from twelve. Mark was not sure if it was some kind of record, but he couldn't remember a year when so many tributes died on the first day. The normal slaughter always killed about half of the field, but Mark and Hank's ambushed overweighed the totals. Mark knew that the momentum that they had gained would not last without diligence. That attitude made Mark concentrate on the remaining tributes that were still out there.

"I'm sorry to hear about your friend from home," Mark put a hand on Hank's shoulder as he delivered his condolence.

"Her name was Darleen. Her pa was one of the stock yard managers. She was being trained to take over for him. Poor feller." Hank's voice was filled with sadness. He allowed himself a moment of grief before considering how well he had done today. For all Hank knew, he could have joined her up there in the sky as one of the fallen. Grief only lasted as long as the reality of the situation would allow it. For Hank, it only took a few moments.

The silence was broken by Mark who began to rank and critique the competition. Hank and Kate joined in his war game exercise by adding information they knew about those still alive in the arena. The trio talked abilities and physical characteristics sharing information as Mark systematically went though each tribute by district. Though Hank and Kate tied to contribute, it was Mark who possessed the greatest knowledge of the other tributes. His time socializing gave him information not know to the other two. Kate was able to identify combat skills in the others since she had been observing the competition with the career packs from the beginning. One by one the trio critiqued the other thee tributes till Mark was satisfied with a plan of attack. Hank was almost stunned by the cold manner in which both Mark and Kate compared skills and possible plans of attack with each other. The pair spoke as if the others were animals and void of feelings or thoughts outside of raw survival. Hank finally knew what is was like to be a career and what they always seemed so intent and passionate about when they spoke with each other during training.

The group decided that the boy from district eleven was most likely the most dangerous. Though he was tall and very skinny, he was fast in his movements and had learned a great deal during his time at the survival stations. Mark knew from his conversations with him that he was an expert forager from him time in the fields and orchards of his home district. The three all knew he would be the toughest to catch and kill so they had to be patient with him.

The girls from both districts seven and nine posed no real threat to them. Both were young form the trio's recollection, one thirteen and one fourteen, though neither of the three could exactly remember. They both were weak in almost all the training events and ran as soon as the Games began. They didn't even try and acquire a single piece of supplies. Hank saw the girl from district nine fall twice as she sprinted from the clearing and not look back as she ran for her life. The girl tribute from seven was a particular case to Mark and Kate. Though she was from a district known from timber, be was completely incompetent with anything in the forest. At two of the survival stations she threw he supplies down when she failed to even pick up on the simple tasks. Like Stacy, she was prone to fits of tears when she felt scared, frustrated, or hopeless. She was also physically weak from what Mark had observed, but Kate reminded him of his own rouse during training. Still, they finally decided that the arena might just take care of the pair and they would not have to worry too long about finding them.

That only left the boy from twelve and the girl from six. Both were wild cards to be dealt with. They both were able to get some supplies and escape the bloodbath according to Kate and Hank. Both were moderately good in training, but only scored fives during their private sessions. Both had a spunk to them whenever the careers were near them in training. Finally, Mark had spent a lot of time talking to both tributes during the days of training. In fact, Mark had once considered trying to build an alliance with them at one point before the private sessions with the game makers. It all fell apart when he was warned by his mentor about making promises he could not keep before the games. These two tributes would need to be focused on by the alliance. The only problem, none of the three had any idea about their patters of life. They were not as predictable as the Careers were. The hunt would take time and patience. The games were long and patience and skill oftener won the day. Mark knew this year, despite the quick start, would be no different. He was prepared from the start to wage a guerilla war against the careers. Hunting down other tributes would require the same patience as stalking the careers.

Mark turned to Kate, "So I guess you were right. He really is dead."

"Told you," she replied with a smile. She had relaxed after Fredrick was announced among the fallen. The critique and the conversation that followed gave her hope that she was about to be included. To her, all signs pointed to a happy result for her.

"I kind of am glad he is. I really didn't want to do what I had planned. Kind of grossed me out thinking about cooking and burning you. I skinned a lot of animals back home, but they were usually all dead."

"You're grateful," she joyously replied, "imagine my relief."

"Well, solves a lot of problems for us." Mark got up as he was speaking and began to work with the knots holding her hands behind her back. Hank just looked on and followed Mark's lead. He guessed that Mark would either kill her right out or ask her to join. For Hank, either way he would not disagree, but he did not trust this girl. Hank knew that his agreement with Mark would stand no matter who else jointed them. He was assured by Mark that if the alliance grew, Mark would only break his pact with Hank after the others were dead. The addition of Kate did not change the trust in his partner.

"So does this mean we work together?" Stacy asked innocently.

"For the most part, but if you don't carry your own weight I can't say I'll let you slide. Hank already proved his worth; you have some work to do."

"Oh, I think I can do that. Just wait till we find the others." She sounded too self assured and confident for Mark. He knew he was letting a career out of her bounds which made him nervous. He could feel her tension releasing now that she knew that the boys were not going to kill her. Up until this moment she had been on guard for the worst. She was trained to show strength and now she would have to prove it to the two boys.

"Hank, how the hell did you tie this?" Mark seemed agitated.

"It ain't hard partner. Just cut the rope if it is buggering too much."

"And waste some good rope, no way. There is barely a decent spool in the supplies we have. Just get over here and fix this." Mark backed away from Kate as Hank approached. Kate had moved to her knees and leaned her head to the ground to extend her arms up higher for Hank to work on. She wanted out of these bonds fast. The hours she spent restricted strained her muscles and she was getting sore. Hank began to work the knot when he noticed that for all his efforts, Mark had made the tie worse. Clearly his partner did not know about knots.

Hank was just finishing correcting what Mark had done when suddenly his eyes reflexively snapped shut and Kate's arms jerked up then went limp. The next thing he felt was warm liquid splash across his face. In a panic he opened his eyes to a horror he did not expect. Hank saw the back of Kate's limp head squirting blood. He immediately shot back and unsuccessfully scrambled to his feet. He fell back to his rear and looked up at Mark standing over him with a bloody tomahawk in hand. Hank immediately reached for his knife causing Mark to back up and go into a defensive position.

"Calm down Hank, just calm down. I'm not looking to start anything with you." Mark's voice was forceful, but calm. He held the tomahawk in an aggressive position, but made no sign of wanting to use it on his partner.

"What the hell was that?" Hank sounded irate.

"Tying up loose ends."

"Loose ends? Loose ends? You just tried to free her then you suddenly bashed her skull in. What the hell kind of loose end is that?"

"I didn't need her begging or crying or struggling. I just needed her gone." Mark's voice was cold and heartless. He gazed down at the dying girl as he spoke to Hank. His face was almost void of emotion. Hank suddenly felt a freighting urge to run.

"You executed her. You sick bastard. She wasn't even fixin to do nothing."

"She's a career, a dam career. I have no use for her and neither should you."

"She's a dam human being. Fixin you never reckoned that," Hank screamed loud as the girl let out a painful moan. Mark took another step towards Kate and gave her one last blow to the neck. The awkward thud and the sound of breaking bone was followed by the echo of a canon in the distance. Kate's head no longer squirted blood after that.

"You're sick partner. You gone done lost it here. You done…"

"STOP!" Mark shouted at the top of his lungs and cast an evil look towards Hank. Suddenly, dead silence fell between the two boys and the clearing as a whole.

"Do you think for one second she would not have tried to kill either of us if she got the chance? She was the odd one out Hank. I couldn't take the chance and neither could you."

"Reckon you led the gal on and then killed her and you used me to do it. Didn't even let me know partner. I was right fixin to think you were gonna add to our arrangement."

"Our arrangement hasn't changed," Mark spoke accusingly, "we still are partners till we shake and still split it all fifty/fifty." He relaxed his tone and spoke. "You had to have known she was doomed. Get over it."

"I was always reckoning you were a little nuts, but cruel is something different."

"Cruel… cruel… cruel! Did she suffer? Did I slowly kill her? Did she die crying, begging or calling out to her parents? No! She was doomed the moment you tied her up. We feed her, we gave her drink and treated her as kindly as you can out here. Yeah, I used her for information, but so what," Mark squared his shoulders to Hank in an act of aggression. Hank took note and decided not to back down from his partner's gestures.

"Easy talk for a feller who killed five today and helped with a fifth feller."

Mark let the words linger as he stared down Hank. Clearly Mark needed to get a hold of the situation and fast. It actually wasn't five kills, it was six. Mark had not yet told Hank about Earl and did not see the need to. Right now he had a bad situation on his hands. He knew Hank had a point though. He should have let his partner know what was about to happen before he killed the girl. This argument could only end badly for both of them if it continued. Mark knew he had to get a hold of himself and his partner before they lost all they had gained together so far.

"Listen, I'm sorry I didn't tell you in detail what I intended to do. I guess it kind of caught you by surprise with the way I did her in, but she was a career. She had no intention of playing nice as far as I'm concerned. She was the enemy."

"And what does that make us? Eventually you'll have to kill me too." Hank shot back his response barely before Mark could finish.

"Until I get that handshake from you, we're friends and partners. After that, well, this is the games. Only one of us can get out of here alive."

"So that's it, you just work with me till we kill everyone?" Hank replied in a calm voice.

"Yeah, basically that's it. Better you or I win than someone I don't really know," Mark rebutted.

"And what of the others? Are you going to give them hope before you stab them in the back? Reckon that is kind of sick to me."

"We do what we have to. Remember what we did earlier? Well, the others are no different. We kill fast and we kill efficient. I needed Kate because I didn't know about her district partner. He may have still been out there." Mark relaxed as the heat of the moment passed. He had taken control and calmed not only Hank down, but also himself.

"I wanna go home. I really don't feel so proud no more. I just want home to Ma and Pa." Hank's voice filled with sorrow. It was clear he was disgusted in what he had been a part of. Hank only wondered if Mark excuse was for not only him, but for himself as well.

"So do I Hank. So do I, but our best chance is together. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I reckon you might be right, but it don't make the deed any more easy." Hank's voice was full of sorrow and regret. He shuddered at the fact that he might have traded in one set of horrors for another. Hank only hoped he had not made a deal with a devil.

"The games never are easy Hank. The bad news is we've just started."


	15. Chapter 14: The Mentors' Plan

It was in the evening after their first day of training in the Capitol that Mark realized that although there were two tributes from District Three, he was the only one the mentors cared about. Stacy had been an utter failure all day. She instantly looked weak to the other tributes. Everything she attempted was a complete failure and she did not hide her emotions to anyone. Several times during the day, Stacy became emotional when instructors corrected her and reminded her of the severity of what lay before her. The careers were already laughing at her by the time they were dismissed for the evening. This first evening would show Mark that no one, not even the mentor assign to Stacy, ever expected her to be successful. The journey to the Capitol and the scene of despair and emotion she displayed on the train turned off all of Distinct Three's victors and her mentor Mrs. D. Beetee, who came along not as a mentor, but rather an observer, was the only victor who took public pity on the girl.

Mark decided early on to keep his distance. He would not forget how Stacy treated him back in District Three. The laughter of Stacy and her friends burned in his memory. Nerds and outcasts like Mark were a blessing to be sent off to die. Mark promised himself that if he survived and came home, he would extract a terrible vengeance on those who mocked him. Unlike almost all of the kids in District Three, he was actually prepared for the games. He accepted that he would probably die if reaped, but he would go down with a hell of a fight. It was all too bitter sweet when Stacy's name was picked for the reaping of the girls. He had to try hard to hold back the smile as her name was picked. While Mark smiled and waved to the crowd in an almost insane gesture to show strength, Stacy just looked down and tried to control the tears. Mark knew all of Panem, including his competition, was watching. He knew you could dig yourself into a deep hole even before you left your district by your reaction to the reaping. The only way he would help Stacy would be if it was at a significant advantage to him. His hand waves of victory to the district and his hollers of celebration was an act he had conjured up in case he was reaped. Even the shaking of Stacy's hand was an act. He was not happy about going to his death, but he was dammed if he was going to make it look like anything but an exciting adventure. Stacy just fought visibly to hold back the tears. Her partner was insane as far as she was concerned to celebrate at a time like this.

Though Mark was masking his strengths during training, he was not going to put himself on the easy to kill list of anyone. He acted like he was learning, but in reality he was brushing up on techniques he was solid in. He knew he had to familiarize himself with the plant and animals the trainers presented to him during the training. This was a clue to what the arena would hold. The knowledge of the flora and fauna would be invaluable during the games. If he had a bad start and was not able to get the proper resources during the initial blood bath, he would have to rely exclusively on survival skills to establish a base to which he could take the fight to his enemies. Long before he was reaped, Mark knew what to expect and how to prepare. When it came to archery practice, he never aimed for the center of the bull's eye, but rather for the edge of the three, six and nine o'clock positions on the target. Only those with a skilled eye could pick up on his rouse. From time to time he would put a few shots near the bull's eye just to not look incompetent. Mark knew looking too strong would make him a target just as being too weak would as well. It was a similar pattern for the knives, spears and any other weapon that could be thrown. Mark looked ok, but not great. All the while, he validated his strong abilities.

After Stacy had broken down for another round of crying at dinner on the first night, Mark was approached about Stacy by both mentors and Beetee. Joe, or Uncle Joe to Mark, put it plainly on how to proceed. Stacy was a waste and he was an excellent prospect to become a victor as far as the mentors and the other District three victors were concerned. Yes, Uncle Joe had trained him for periods off and on over the years in secret, but Beetee and Mrs. D knew he had the quality to really take the game seriously. Mark had a chip on his shoulder and he knew how to be alone against the world. This is what Beetee though would help Mark survive. They all had waited for a tribute that they could work with and Mark fit the mold. Trained, angry, focused on how to win, and already accepting that he was going to die were the mix they had waited for. Stacy was an annoyance, but Mark was the victor in their minds.

It was true that Joe was Mark's official mentor, but Mrs. D would be an integral part of preparing him and assisting him. Mrs. D, or Wiress Dunmil, was mentored by Joe and Beetee the year she won. Her maiden name was Wiress MacDanielle, but she took her husband's name after she married. To her students as well as her tributes, she preferred the name Mrs. D to her proper first name. After her victory, Wiress worked in research and development. She proved to be a brilliant scientist. She was shrewd and calculating in how she both conducted and presented her work. Beetee work side by side with her for years doing research. The two were inseparable in the labs and were sometimes never seen apart. Eventually though, Wiress decided that she needed a break. The demands to produce more and the lack of control she was given over certain projects drew the wrong kind attention from the powers that be in the district. She had been a mentor to many of the up and coming engineers that had finished school, so teaching seemed like a logical choice. Before she decided to take a break and teach, she promised Beetee that she would eventually return to the labs again. This was the only thing that allowed Beetee to let her go. He was heat broken, but understood in the end.

Wiress's ability to groom students as scientist and engineers was second to none. Those students who could not rise to the levels of her expectations were held back or sent down to lower skilled positions. She only worked with the best. The year she won the games, she wounded her ally from another district and laid in wait for a pack of dogs to move in a finish the poor boy off. Wiress then killed one of the dogs for food and finished off the boy for show. She was vicious. She dragged the higher performing students to be well prepared to provide the Capitol with the best technology. She ruled with an iron fist and degraded anyone she saw as unfit for the privilege of being in the higher social class of workers. Unknown to her at the time, but Mark was going to be in her classes that fall had he not been reaped. No one questioned her methods, including Beetee, who marveled at her ability to assess skills and assign the right student to the right kind of scientific discipline.

Mrs. D's talent made her the main mentor for the district. Joe, with his gruff outlook and general lack of feeling, was her counterpart. Beetee always accompanied them for assessment help and strategy development, but he acted as more of the behind the scenes mentor and never really interacted with the tributes. Most years, Beetee felt it was a wasted trip. Still, he worked and waited with the others for a victor to emerge, but year after year, the wrong kids were always reaped. All three had been mentors off and on over the years. Sometimes they were almost successful, but the tributes came up just a little short. Mrs. D did her best with what she was given, but she knew a loser when she saw one. It was not uncommon for this cold woman to leave others to die.

It was after Stacy had finished crying at diner the first night and a chaperone named Elictre had taken her to rest did Uncle Joe, Beetee, and Mrs. D approach Mark. Stacy would not be seen for the rest of the night and time was short.

"You uncle has already told me of what you are capable of. I have seen may tributes come and go and they always die the same… alone. They all lack the skill in the end to finish the job." Mrs, D tone was condescending and informative at the same time. She meant business.

"We've watched enough over the last few years to put a reasonable plan together for you." Uncle Joe added. He was already drinking hard by the sound from his voice.

"We've talked about it for years. It is blatantly obvious, but never really successfully carried out." Beetee said excitedly. "Other tributes in the past have tried, but failed. It required a little luck, but more so, it requires skill."

"Bottom line, you take the fight to the careers then mop up the rest. It's such a simple plan, but never really execute properly." Uncle Joe was drunk; Mark knew it by the delivery of his words. Mark knew as soon as he was done with him, Uncle Joe would meet up with another victor named Hamish from district twelve and they would both drink themselves into oblivion. Hamish had won the Quarter Quell an few years back and was a raging alcoholic. Mark's aunt would always complain about the trouble he would get into drinking with Hamish during victors events.

"I already know about how you have been prepared. If only most families took the Games as such a threat as your family," Mrs. D told him accusingly. "Joe and I have always prepared for our own kids to be reaped. We watch with an intellect that few mentors do outside of the career districts. Now, you get to truly execute our plan." Mrs. D was hopeful in her comments.

"I will not lie to you, Joe here has an unusual hope for you. I just hope his biased feelings are well rounded in facts." Mrs. D's cold delivery made Mark hate the over bearing teacher. Mark knew about Mrs. D. She lived two houses down in the victor's village from his Uncle Joe's family. He knew of her reputation in the classroom. Even more, Mark resented that even though he now was her greatest hope for victory, she still spoke to him so proper and proud. Her approach was cold for the boy who embodied what she hoped for in a possible contender to win.

Beetee was the one who was able to best articulate the strategy to Mark. He did not have the condescending tone of Mrs. D or the ruff drunken attitude of his uncle. Beetee taught Mark the finer details and options in a language that was more conducive to how Mark thought. Beetee's scenarios and outcomes for each were simple, but void of any emotion. Mark knew that for any of these options to work, he would have to leave his morality out of the games. In the language of math and science, both Mark, Beetee and Mrs. D understood that complexities like emotions often led to system failure. In Marks's case, failure meant death. Any hint of relying on luck or fairness had to disappear no matter what his feelings told him.

When Beetee was a young teen, he was reaped and not given a single chance of survival. At the time he was no physical specimen, had no formal survival training, or had any experience in fighting. He was fodder for the bigger and well trained tributes. The one advantage he had over all of his competition was that he was smarter. He could learn faster, out think them all, and plan way ahead of those stronger tributes who could only see one move ahead. Beetee fought a guerrilla war against his rivals. He never relied on direct confrontation or engagement, but rather he hunted and trapped his peers. He proved that the strongest were not the masters of the games. Most of all, Beetee knew that the emotional aspect of the games was a trap in itself. He was smart enough to deny his humane side and focused on the clear task of killing. The gentle scientist from district three knew more about taking life than any of the careers. Beetee, more than any other tribute that year, was a cold killer.

The plan in itself was simple. Mark needed a proper weapon from the start. The best choice was something that could kill at a distance and fast. Bows, arrows, blow guns and even spears were the most preferred. Along with the weapon, Mark would need survival gear. He would then need to kill the careers first and fast. Those kids were not prepared for a fast and early strike after the blood bath. They were the biggest threat and the most likely statistically to challenge him. To kill them early, all Mark had to do was to bide his time and wait for the careers to fall into a lull of complacency. When there guard was down, Mark would then strike using ambush tactics and deception. After the careers were dead or disabled, he would hunt down the weaker tributes using a carful and deliberate method of stalking.

If all when wrong at the start, the alternate to the mentor's plan would be to fall back and build a base of survival by gathering resources and laying traps for others. Luring the careers with fires at night, leaving food for the hungry or faking injuries would bring victims into overlapping traps and deadly devices. Deception and ingenuity were to be the cornerstone of the fall back plan. Never fail to take advantage of a situation. Every action had to have a purpose.

Alliances were not a top priority, but an integral part only if the situation arose. He who does not trust or rely cannot be betrayed. Every single tribute would have to be assessed as to the value they would provide to a larger strategy. If it meant a temporary alliance to kill someone, so be it. Mark would just have to know when to cut off any friendships. Sponsors loved good story line as much as violence. Mark would have to know how to balance it.

Mark knew something about the strategy already. Uncle Joe had helped prepare Mark along side of his own three daughters. The three girls along with Mark and his sister had been secretly and slowly prepared for the unfortunate event that they would reaped for years. It was better in Mark's father mind to prepare and never use then to never prepare and die badly. The added bonus in preparation was it also helped bring in money and food to Mark's family. Joe's family was rich due to the Capitol bestowing a life of luxury on victors, Mark's had to work and scrounge. The preparation involved trapping and hunting. These were skill originally passed down from Mark's grandfather. Though officially outlawed, trapping and hunting helped a few resourceful citizens of District Three makes ends meet. As long as it was not blatant, the peace keepers looked the other way. Better to have the desperate focused on finding food than raging against the Capitol for the lack there of. Mark's father would not let his children go unprepared. In an act of determination, he approached Joe about training when Mark was eight.

Joe was in fact married to Mark's mother's sister. Even more important was the fact that Mark's family was the only people to be kind to Joe growing up. Joe was an illegitimate child. It was rumored his dad was a peace keeper. He and his mother were shunned by many of the residents of district three. He grew up very poor just a few blocks from Mark's father. It was hard for Joe as a child having to live with people who always pointed and jeered under their breath at him. The rumored illegitimate son of a peacekeeper was a mark of shame for the boy. Joe never would move from under that shadow of shame until the day he returned a victor of the games. By then, he was too jaded to acknowledge those who suddenly accepted him. Joe was always jaded, it was his return that truly made him toxic to others.

Mark's father, Dominic, meet Joe before they even went to school. Joe was a year older than Dominic and being he lived so close, played in the same areas as Dominic. Dominic's family was poor like most living in that part of the district. The factory workers who scraped by and were the hands on producers of the Capitol's goods often banded together. The exceptions were those like Joe. The Capitol was hated and anything that was linked to them, like illegitimate sons of peacekeepers, were frowned upon. Still, Mark's family did not view Joe as bad. How can a child that had nothing to do with the circumstances of his birth be found guilty? Mark's grandfather and grandmother view Joe as a good child turned bad by issues beyond his control. In Joe's mind, everyone was the enemy, except Mark's family. James never shunned or spoke ill about Joe. James and the family would simply walk away when others would bring up unkind words about the boy and his mother.

The day Joe was reaped, only three people came so see him before he was sent off to presumably die. The first was his mother who wept for the only thing in her life that gave her meaning. Not even his mom expected or hoped Joe to come home from the Games. She knew what this goodbye meant. She told the truth about his real father and asked him to take it to his grave. His mother revealed that Joe was the son of a suspected leader in an uprising who was discovered years later and killed when Joe was still in the womb. She kept quiet to protect them both from the vengeance of the Capitol. It was Joe's own grandmother who started the rumor of an affair with a peacekeeper to protect them.

The second was Dominic. He wished Joe the best and reminded him of the skills they had used to catch food in the woods near their house. Joe might have not been the best friend to Dominic, but Dominic was the best friend to Joe. Dominic spent most of their last moments together refreshing old stories of better times instead expressing condolences. Dominic was an optimist, but not blind to Joe's sentence.

Finally, there was Dominic's father James. He left Joe with a sense of hope. The man inspired the doomed young man. James's words were kind, but also stoked a fire in Joe to do what needed to doen to live. James had taught Joe the same survival skills as his own sons. Mark's family always believe in being good to people, no matter what the world thought. The just would live on long after this life ended. That belief included James taking pity on a boy shunned by the distinct. Up until James's visit, Joe felt pity for this reaping. After the visit, Joe felt like he was to be feared. Joe would never forget Mark's family kindness to him or the visit from Mark's grandfather. Joe felt obligated to motivate Mark in the same way that his grandfather had.

In a cruel world, where children are sent to murder one another for entertainment, a grizzled man like Joe was about to repay the kindness to a family that had paid kindness to him. Also, a sadistic teacher was about to follow her peers in putting a long conceived plan into effect with a boy that was outcast by many of his peers. Joe burned to stick it to those he considered bullies. Mrs. D wanted to produce a victor and validate herself among her peers. No one had won the games since she did twenty years ago. Beetee sought after another winner and wanted to save a boy who was much like him intellectually. Caught in the middle was a boy who already accepted the fact that he might die soon. The only thing Mark cared about was dying well enough to validating himself and his family. Mark was unique to the mentors. The question on all their minds was could Mark be brought home a victor or just another tribute from district three dead in a box?


	16. Chapter 15: A Hunting We Will Go

**Please keep the comments, PMs and reviews coming. They have been a big help. Thanks...**

* * *

The fire the boys started in order to destroy the remaining supplies burned thought the night. The only thing not consumed in the flames were their packed supplies, enough food and water for breakfast and the metal weapons they tied to the body of Kate before the hover craft removed her from the arena. As the majority of the supplies were set alight, the fire could be seen for great distances from the clearing. It was a welcome source of warmth to the pair as they alternated sleep cycles to ensure security. Blankets, wooden boxes, clothing, a tent, excess food, tarps and unneeded survival packs all were consumed to ensure that no other tribute could benefit from them. Mark felt almost ashamed to waste the materials. He wondered if he would regret disposing of them in the near future. The games had a way of quickly turning the tables on the participants. Hank was more focused on taking advange of the heat the fire provided. He assumed this would be his most comfortable night in the games. Never again would he have so much food, water and warmth ever again as far as he was concerned. The cornucopia reflected on its golden surface the bright light of the fire all though the night.

At first light, Mark noticed a problem with the fire. Hot embers that had escaped the fire pit and drifted away were starting little blazes on the dry grass in the clearing. On the far end of the field, a small brush fire had ignited. it was not a raging inferno, but it had the potential to burn out of control. This could spell trouble for the pair if not properly watched. Hank knew how fast brush fires could move. Carless ranchers back home could scorch large tracks of quality cattle grazing land in a day if left unchecked. The driving winds of district ten would sometimes drive the fires for days on end till they either burnt themselves out or were contained by aggressive ranchers. Though the winds were not high in the arena, Hank knew those little fires were still a threat.

After a large breakfast and the consumption of a large amounts of water, the two boys left the cornucopia for what they hoped would be the last time. They traveled up wind from the now growing fires towards what appeared to be high ground. The number one priority aside from detecting other tributes was water. Finding and controlling this valuable resource would be vital in surviving for a long period of time. Mark took comfort in the fact that if water was really scarce in the arena, both he and Hank were already at a great advantage having been well hydrated the past day along with carrying a decent reserve. Other tributes out there would be already almost two days ahead in dehydration. Dying at the hands of the elements was just as equal to dying at the hands of another tribute as far as Hank was concerned. Both methods removed you from the games.

The boys moved slow a first. They would travel about a hundred meters, stop and wait in the stillness of the forest, try and detect anything, then move on. Hank usually led the way as he tried to move down natural lines of drift in search of water. Eventually, they would have to hit the low point and that was the best possible spot to find water. The small rolling hills were covered in vegetation that ranged to almost impassible to sparsely filled. Mark walked with a bow loaded with an arrow at the ready while hand brandished his spear. The two stalked along as if any moment they would be in an ambush. The day was warm, but the breeze they felt was cool. It was a typical fall day to both of them.

After one particular stop, Hank heard something that excited him. The faint sound of slowing water cut though the noise of the forest. It appeared to be coming from a draw they were about to head down into. Mark urged Hank to proceed with caution. Water found so easily could not be a good thing. Who could tell what surprises lay around the vital resource. The game makers sometimes booby trapped the area with snakes or custom made insects that wreaked havoc on the unlucky tribute who stumbled upon them. A few years ago, a girl tribute found a water source after a few day of searching only be attached by grasshoppers whose venom caused excessive bleeding from her mouth, nose and eyes. She died slowly later that day. Other years, the game makers poisoned the water. Sometimes it would cause vomiting, or stomach pains if you consumed too much at a time. Some water was purposely design to kill tributes slowly by dysentery or a virus. You never could be quite sure what you were getting when you took a drink. The best course of action was to sample a small amount then wait to see what happens. The bottom line was that if the game makers wanted those who drink to die, you really wouldn't know till it was too late.

As the two boys approached, Hank grabbed a five foot long stick and began to prod the ground in front of him as he neared the sound of the water. He took extra precaution to check for traps as he traveled. A water source would make the perfect spot to ambush your opponent with a snare or spring loaded booby trap. Hank was becoming wise to the ways of them games.

Hank cleared a particularly thick parch of brush when he saw the source of the noise. It was small stream flowing down thought the draw they were in. The fast moving water gurgles as it moved over rocks and down the hill. Hank continued his cautious advance. Mark covered his friend with the bow and scanned the surrounding forest for any signs of tributes. Both boys took small drinks before sitting in silence in the cover of the surround brush. They rested there for over a half an hour before assuming the water was safe. Neither felt the slightest hint of distress, but they did not immediately drink large quantities. Instead they finish a good deal of their packed water before refilling their containers with the stream water. Then, both boys added the iodine that was part of the survival supplies that came with the packs. Who knew how long this stream would last, but for now they would remain well hydrated.

After waiting for what for Hank seemed like an eternity, the pair moved up hill in the draw about 100 meters to the right of the stream. They continued to use the terrain and the sound of the water as a guide as they sought higher ground. The leaves, so thick in the low ground, were becoming thin under their feet as trees became sparser as they neared the top of the hill. Once at the top the, boys huddled in a defensive position and again waited. Still, they were not rewarded with any sign of their peers. To Mark this was to be expected, but Hank began to grow impatient. The boy was not at all accustom to hunting elusive prey. Whenever he did go foraging, it was for animals that were easy to find on the open range. Vermin like prairie dogs always were easy to locate when you wanted to catch something. The problem with the little critters was actually killing them. Guns were not allowed and trapping them took a little skill. Usually, Hank was busy tending to the herd when his friends would go out trapping. Hank would share in the bounty of what they caught by covering down for the other boys so they could trap. Sometimes, when the prairie dog population would hinder the livestock, large groups of men would be tasked with killing them. This usually meant a large feast for those groups involved. If there was one thing that district ten never ran out of, it was prairie dogs.

Eventually Hank decided to climb a tree to get a bearing on the surrounding and to see just what had become of the fire. As Mark kept a close look out, Hank made his way above the canopy top and into the open air. What Hank saw would shock him.

In the not too far off distance, Hank could see the smoke from the fire they had set. It had grown to consume the entire cornucopia area. Hank knew the wind had shifted during the day, but only slightly. The fire had not burnt itself out as he had hoped and clearly the game makers wanted it to continue. H wondered how long that fire would take to reach them or if it would eventually trap them. He feared that in the event to gain an advantage, they had put themselves at a disadvantage.

Off to the right of the fire, Hank noticed another peculiar sight. Far off in the distance he could see clearings that looked like plowed fields. Beyond them was what appeared to be land that had been stripped leaving only the barren trees behind. At the great distance and since the majority of his view was being blocked by other trees, he could not make out exactly what he was looking at. Hank only assumed it could not be a good thing that the landscape was stripped bare. He wondered if another tribute had started a fire last night that raged out of control. Hank never really imagined that he and Mark would be the only ones to mistakenly set the arena on fire. Hank also wondered if the game makers had decided to extinguish the far off inferno before it altered the games too much.

Hank climbed down and gave Mark a detailed account of what he had seen. Mark was silent and really did not offer many opinions to Hank's report. It almost troubled Hank that Mark did not take a greater interest in what he had viewed, but in the end Hank just assumed that there was nothing immediate to become excited about. What really caught Hank's attention was the small pile of about two dozen sharpened sticks that were about a foot in length. Mark had crafted them while Hank was up in the tree. Hank could only guess that Mark had prepared them for some sort of trap he was about to set. Mark was taking ever opportunity to prepare for the fight ahead and that meant crafting weapons while Hank was engaged in other pursuits.

The boys only moved a short distance before finding a location to bed down for the night. It was right on the edge of a particularly dense patch of forest near the top the ridgeline. Though the hill was not particularly high or steep, the location did offer a good view of the area to the front of the location. Mark selected a spot beneath a pine tree with low branches that was similar to where he had first encounter Hank. With the rear side blocked by brush, Mark showed Hank how to constrict a spring loaded booby trap on both side flank of the position. The device would whip around and impale prey using the foot long sharpened sticks Mark had made while Hank was in the trees. The trigger was all made of supplies the boys found around the position and would be almost impossible to see till it was activated. This would protect them from anyone trying to sneak around the sides of the thick underbrush to them.

As darkness fell, the boys camouflaged their position one last time and settled down into sleep rotations. Neither boy was in the mood for conversant. They had walk a great deal that day and found nothing but the water source. The mass excitement of day one had been replaced with the boredom of hunting on day two. The night was growing cold fast when the sun went down. Though they did not have any man made light with them, both boys could see their breath in the dim light that cut the darkness. Huddle back to back under the same blanket to share body warmth, they both just were thankfuk they were still alive and in good condition.

Just as Hank was about to nod off to sleep, something strange caught his eyes in the trees. At first, he did not believe it, but once he saw Mark staring in the same direction, he knew it was real. Two parachutes had cleared the canopy and were descending down to their location. The silver cloth of the chutes each contained a number. One parachute had a bright red three and the other chute had a bright red ten. They landed just a meter away from the boys. Mark slowly crouched down low and retrieved the gifts from their sponsors. When each boy opened his gift, the warmth of soup wisped over their faces and steam rose through their noses. The bowl shaped metal containers were almost too hot to touch as the boys huddled over their prizes. Hank was almost on the verge of tears from the thought of having a hot meal sent to him on this cold night. Mark took it as a sign that they were definitely winning the popularity contest. Though just a bowl of soup, it spoke volumes to Mark. Someone out there was very pleased with them and wanted them to know that what they were doing well. Mark knew that no matter what, he had to keep up the buddy story. The audience was clearly loving it form both boys receiving gifts.

After their soup was finish, Hank turned to Mark and spoke softly and sincerely in the night air.

"Hey partner, I want to thank you. I reckon I would never be in this situation without you. "

"Thanks, but you don't have to thank me. You're just as part of this as I am. We have a good thing going. Let's not forget that." Mark wanted to say more, but he knew that he really did not want to get into a conversation. They had to rest up and he was on first watch.

The night passed without as much as a rustle of leaves. Two nights into the games and Mark knew that he was way ahead of his best case scenario he planned with his mentors. Somewhere out there Uncle Joe and Mrs. D had worked sponsors over to send the gifts the pair had received. Mark took it as a sign that he was on the right track.


	17. Chapter 16: Victims, Aren't We All

The third morning passed by without incident. The boys broke camp, disarmed the traps, hid them for later use and moved out. The two began to push deeper into the arena making clover leaf like patters up and down the small ridgeline in search of any sign of other tributes. Just after noon the pair came upon another water source, but the drink's bitter taste warned of immediate danger. Both boys spit the water out instantly them washed out their mouths with their own fresh water. The pool of water was not even flowing like the source they had found yesterday.

Just shortly after deeming the water undrinkable, the two stopped to take a break within sight of the pool of water. It was then that an opportune food source appeared. A small group of geese slowly wandered up to the pool of water and started to take a drink. The gander of five birds all tried then rejected the water just as the boys had done. Excited, Mark slowly crept up to the birds as they hung around the water's edge. When he was just within about fifteen meters, Mark took aim with his bow and carefully aimed at the largest of the gander. The arrow nailed the goose directly in the center of his chest causing the animal to thrash for a few seconds before falling motionless on the ground. Mark second shot at a second goose missed the animal completely. The arrow imbedded into the ground a few meters back. No matter, Hank was already on the move to finish off the successful kill. The other bird honked and hissed, but took fight and escaped before Hank arrived to the location. After retrieving the bird, Hank grabbed both arrows and quickly followed Mark away from the scene to a better defendable position. For all their efforts to find tributes, the luck of gathering more food was the second best thing to happen to them. Mark knew the ability to stretch their packed supplies would become vital in hunting their competition. Those who could spend more time focusing on the other tributes could gain an upper hand. Gathering food took time and Mark wanted to focus his efforts on his rivals.

As dusk approached, the pair decided to stop and prepare their catch. Twilight was the perfect time to use fires because there was still enough light to drown out the fire light and stay stealthy, but dark enough to obscure the smoke pretty well. In the upcoming days, this would be prime hunting time for the pair.

Just as they began their search for a good defensive position, something caught Hank's eye a little ways off in the distance. The boys moved on the high ground to be able to spot signs of other and to have the upper hand. The brush was thinner near the top and offered larger fields of view down the hill. Up there was were Hank caught the faint flicker of a fire nestled up against a bare tree. Mark froze dead in his tracks and crouch down. He knew for certain that somewhere near by was another tribute. Both boys crept forward in the brush utilizing the large rocks to step on as to not crunch the dried leaves. When these rocks ran out and they were faced with the open space of leave that would make noise, they stopped.

Suddenly, the two boys saw her; it was the girl from district seven. She was constantly looking around and gnawing on what looked like roots. It was clear she could not see them hidden in the brush on the high ground, but she was by no means in an passive state.

"Can you hit her from here?" Hank wispered.

"I don' think I can be accurate enough at this range."

"Then how do we get her? You want to flank her from different sides?"

"No. I suggest we just wait for now."  
"Wait!" Hank was stunned at the suggestion. Here was easy prey and they were going to let her just hang out. It seemed a waste of an opportunity.

"Yes Hank, we wait and see. Rushing in is what got the Careers killed. I'm not going to make the same mistake as them. As for as I'm concerned partner, we're on her turf. She may have traps waiting for us and she is trying to bait us in. Let's just allow this to play out for awhile. You have anything else to do?"

"No, but the whole thing doesn't reckon that complex."

"Maybe that's what she wants us or anyone else who pursues her to think. I'm not betting my life on her being an easy kill."

"Reckon we wait then." Hank let out a sigh of disappointment and settled in for the long night.

Soon, the girl had snuffed out the fire and could be heard and seen making a well hidden shelter. The dried leaves that had fallen told of her every move. The boys just simply and quietly pulled out the blankets and kept watch over the area as twilight turned to night. The two were warm in the cold night air rapped in the blankets together back to back. Body heat shared could be a powerful way of keeping warm. Each boy would take turns watching while the other one slept. Both had decided to skip dinner in order to preserve stealth. They could eat in the morning after they had moved in for the kill. Hank just wondered if their goose would rot before they had time to cook it.

Occasionally throughout the night, the girl's fire would come ablaze. Though she had concealed her position and the fire, the pair could still see it from their vantage point. Mark figured the girl would burn some wood for hot coals, extinguish the flame, and use the coals to stay warm. Repeating this throughout the night was the only survival method the girl could use for now. She had no other clothing to keep warm besides the outfit she started the games with. The fire was the safest method not to freeze he guessed. It did not appear that she stuffed her jacket with extra leaves to increase insulation, but it did look like she had buried herself in a pile of them to help stay warm. This night was colder than last night and now the elements were beginning to take a toll on her and the other tributes.

Just before morning, Hank woke Mark. A sliver of pink of on the horizon and it would be light in an hour. Nothing had happened with their prey all night. A few times, she had started the fire and then put it out after a couple of minutes. Besides that, all was quiet in her little camp.

Mark told Hank his plan was simple to make this kill efficient. He would work his way around to the far side and wait for her to move. Once Hank began to move out and it was clear she was not trying to lure them into a trap, Hank would flush her Mark's way and Mark would finish her. To Hank it sounded too cautious, but Mark wanted it to be cautions. The girl from district seven was under fed, unarmed and poorly trained to begin with. Hank though Mark was being paranoid.

After about an hour of slow creeping, Mark was in position just as daylight had illuminated the forest. The girl had woken and began to start her fire, but still remained unaware of her predicament. About ten minutes after Mark was set, Hank made his slow move towards the girl. He took time to gently pad the ground in front of him with his spear to check for traps. Hank moved when the girl moved to mask his sounds from her. It occurred to Hank that Mark may have given the dangerous job to him on purpose.

The girl had just covered her fire when her head snapped towards Hank's direction. He was almost on top of her when she saw him. Only ten meters separated them. She was totally clueless to his approach until just them. Immediately she turned to run, but stumbled to her feet and almost fell over. Hank ignored Mark's warnings of possible traps and dashed after her. After only a few seconds of pursuit,, Hank used the handle end of his spear to knock the legs of the girl out from under her and she fell crashing into the ground. Immediately she scampered back and put her hands up in a defensive position. Tears streamed down her face as a look of sheer terror greeted Hank.

Mark had cautiously made his way over to the pair with spear at the ready. The girl from seven was now openly weeping and staring down while sitting against a tree. Her shoulder length brown hair was hanging down covering one side of her face and tucked behind her ear on the other. Mark could see the puffiness under her brown eyes from the crying. She knew her time had come and it was terrifying her. Death had finally caught up to her as Mark raised his spear.

"Please," the girl begged.


	18. Chapter 17: Her Goose was Cooked

"Shut the hell up!" Mark voice was firm and commanding. He used the tip of the spear to lift the girls head so she could face him. The move brought an immediate round of tears as she tried to choke back the cries. Her cheeks were tucked up high as the frown stretched across her face. Snot ran down from her nose and pooled on her upper lip as the terrified girl stared into the face of her would be killer.

"How badly do you want to die slow and painful, huh? If the answer is yes, then keep it up. Keep sobbing out loud and crying," Mark was almost in a rage. He tried to channel his anger into his statement to give himself an excuse to use the spear.

"My moth mother calls me Squirrely. She sssays I act t-t-t-too much like them," the terrified girl responded.

There was a dead silence as the girl tried to choke back her tears. Mark knew from meeting her during training she was fourteen. He couldn't remember her name, but he remembers her telling him about the nickname. She grew up in the woods because both parents were loggers and really didn't have time to watch her during the day when they were at work. She would spend her time playing in the forest except when it rained. She hated being wet. The way both boys had been able to close with her and stop her made Mark believe she must be really weak from exposure and lack of food. This girl who grew up in the woods was not using her natural talents too well. She was unarmed and had no survival gear from the cornucopia. If the careers had been around, they would have probably found her quickly. Killing her now would most likely be a mercy kill in some respects.

Hank turned away. He clearly did not want to see what was about to happen. For all his bravery and toughness, the kid was not a cold hearted killer. Mark knew that the responsibility was going to be his alone.

"Make you a deal kid, you prove your worth and we can do this differently. How about you make a fire to cook with," Mark commanded. He reached around and removed his pack with the dead goose tied to the camouflage. He removed the dead bird and heaved it to the crying girl. Hank looked at him with amazement. True, Hank was sort of uncomfortable about killing the girl, but his partner's sudden reversal on the plan shook him. He wondered what Mark was doing. Did he suddenly lose his nerve or was he trying to drag this out.

"You have an hour to be well on your way to cooking this. Get the job done and we can do this differently between us."

The girl stared up in amazement. She was almost salivating at the sight of the bird, but confused at the orders she was being given.

"B-b-b-but the fire will draw others. The smoke, it's a dead giveaway in day light."

"So," Mark remarked uncaring, "do you think I really give a dam about stealth. I hope other come."

"They will and when they smell the food they will fight for it. This place has almost nothing to eat. We're all starving." She began to cry as soon as the last word left her mouth.

"Not all of us are starving just yet. Where the hell did you think we got the bird? Besides, do we look like we'd be scared of a fight?" He leaned down to stare deeper into her watery eyes as he made his demands. "Seriously, I just gave you a large bird to cook. Maybe other come and maybe they don't. That's not your concern right now. Do you think I'm going to let my food be taken?"

"So I'm bait?" Squirrely began to cry.

"Stop, for god's sake just stop. Thirty seconds ago I was about to slice you up, don't make me go back to that decision." Hank suddenly stared at Mark with wide eyes in amazement. He wondered what his partner had in mind. Was he about to use this tribute as bait in his game of cat and mouse? Hank knew Mark had a plan, but he was now shocked that he was going to use the starving girl to cook their food to lure others in.

" Do you want to eat?" Mark asked. The girl just nodded. "Fine, get then busy," he commanded.

"But what if others come?" The girl sniffled back the tears and fought to gain her composure.

"Let them come. You just stay focused on the bird. I think we can handle whoever comes by. Not like there are careers out there." Mark's tone was condescending and cold. This boy who has shared his lunch table with the girl from district seven and told jokes just a few days ago was suddenly someone completely different.

"By the way, if you try and run or mess with the food, I'll cut your face off of you and show it to you. "

The girl instantly began to cry hard. Mark simply turned and walked up the hill while motioning Hank to follow him by two quick nods of his head. Hank followed in total silence. The partner Hank though he knew was suddenly a cold and heartless bully. Whatever respect he had for his partner was suddenly gone. Had he made a pact with someone he now viewed as two faced? Hank though that Mark could be different. Now though, he saw the two distinct personalities in his partner. One was the just killer who fought with what seemed like a sense of morals. The other side was no different than the careers Mark so hated. As the two disappeared into the brush, Hank suddenly felt scared again.

Suddenly Mark stopped and crouched down into the brush. He turned and faced the girl who was quickly trying to build the fire though the sobs and tears. Hank was certain that she could not see them from this position, but it would provide them great observation of her and the surrounding area.

"I know, we should have just killed her, but…" Mark trailed off.

"You don't have to do no explainin to me partner. Reckon you have a plan for that little one." Hank was distant and unconfrontational with Mark.

"Truth is I just couldn't kill her like that. It was hard, but I just couldn't do it like that. If she tried to run or fight it would have be over by now. I couldn't with her just sitting there waiting to be slaughtered."

"Reckon you had your reasons."

"I do, but nothing noble. I just can't kill like that. I need a reason I guess. I felt sick when I was about to do it. Felt like I was going to puke." Mark just stared down the hill. He never looked Hank in the face. Hank felt Mark was almost ashamed about not finishing the girl off.

After a long silence, Hank finally spoke. "So what's with the chores for her? You fixing to hatch a now idea?"

"Sort of. Part of me wants her to be bold and run. Makes finish her easy on me. Part of me really wants others to come. That's sort of a sick trap, but it could work." Mark took a deep breath and paused before continuing. "A final part of me thinks she could be useful."

"You fixin to grow this little pact?"

"Maybe. What do you think?"  
"Does it change anything between us?"

Mark paused, "No. It only delays what I'm gonna have to do eventually. Our agreement still stands, everyone else then a handshake and that includes her."

"I reckon as much. She could make some great bait for the others. Gotta keep her close I reckon though."

"If she makes it past the meal, we add to our little band then. If!" Mark left the comments hang on the final word. The two boys continued to sit and watch as the girl cleaned the bird and began to roast it over a rather large fire. She was obviously trying to impress the boy whom she knew were watching her. She constantly looked around form time to time scanning the forest for any signs of them or others.

"I have to admit partner," Hank spoke up, "reckon you we pretty scary down there. Had me a little worried about you."

"I had to make an impression. I think she got the message though. Can you smell that bird cook, oh so good." Mark was almost giddy at the prospect of a hot meal. The monster that ordered the girl around was totally gone. All Hank could do was wonder just what was going on inside of Mark's head. One minute, his partner was a terrifying beast and the next he was your best friend. Hank could only wonder with caution.

The bird took about an hour and a half to cook. During that time, Mark and Hank carved more stakes from half foot pieces of inch diameter sticks. They then combined three of them to form tripods. By the time the bird was done, the morning was well on its way to becoming afternoon. Squirrely's focus was only broken when Hank emerged from the wood line to inspect the meal. After sampling the meat and finding it finished, he waved to Mark who joined the pair at the fire.

"Let's move. We are not hanging around her too much longer." Mark grabbed a few pieces of string made of dead tributes pants legs from the pack. He then placed three trip lines around the fire and placed the spiked tripods in front of the strings so they were concealed in leaves. To finish off the scene, Mark threw a large pile of dried leaves on the fire. Immediately, smoked bellowed up into the sky from the fire. Hank marveled at the ingenuity of the trap. He admitted to himself he would have never thought to baiting the scene. Hank could see the problem he was now facing. As the games wore on, his partner was proving to be not just a well trained tribute, but a deliberate and aggressive hunter. All his actions had purpose and meaning. Hank just wondered that if Mark thought through booby trapping a cooking spot so well, what was mark's ultimate plan from finishing their arrangement.

"Follow us if you want to live," Mark told the girl in a easy and welcoming voice. She just nodded and accepted. There was really no choice for her anyway.

The trio moved for about ten minutes. The pace was fast with Mark leading the way and Hank driving the girl forward. The three stayed on top of the ridgeline, but avoided the thicker areas. Natural lines of drift were avoided and Mark's head was constantly moving from side to side to survey the surrounding as he pushed the pace. Finally, after Squirrely could barely keep up, the trio stopped and took refuge in a large and thick group of pines. The overhang from their branches shielded them from the outside and anyone daring to enter would easily make their presence known. Once again, Mark selected their position with a clear defensive advantage in mind.

"We'll hear anyone who falls for the trap from here. I think we are closer than you may think," Mark said calmly.

"Partner I reckon you may have walked us in a circle."

"I sort of did. We moved out in an arc. Anyone trying to follow us would have most likely given away their position in those thick areas. Our route would have channeled them into the think stuff. The noise from breaking though would have been a dead giveaway." Mark was smiling. He was proud of how he was operating now. He felt like he had some measure of control of the group. Hank followed him whatever he did and their new friend seemed to be too scared and hungry to protest.

"Let's eat," Hank said excitedly. The surprised look from Squirrely that she was about to share in the meal drew a smile from her two new companions.

Hank took the bird and began to rip pieces off the well done flesh apart. He laid three equal piles of meat out on the bed of pine needles and pulled out three small pieces of bread from his pack. Squirrely could barley believe her eyes when she saw the huge feast before her. Last night she was starving with only two mouthfuls of barely edible roots to eat. Now, she was looking at a roast goose meal with two boys who almost killed her when she woke up from her frozen slumber. She wasted no time in stuffing her face. She never even tried to consider why this was all happeneing.

The three began to eat, but Mark reminded them that this had to last and not get too greedy. Full stomachs kept them from moving fast and they had a lot of ground to cover today if they wanted to find more usable water sources. The warning broke the light celebration mood that both Hank and Squirrely were feeling. Mark was too much business at a time when others wanted to relax and enjoy a rare moment. Hank tough back to how Mark baited the cooking location. The way Mark was thinking though most of his moves alarmed him. No matter how hard he tried to let the idea slide, Hank's mind could not just let the thought of Mark's cunning go.

"So tell us Squirrely, what've you been up to in the Games?" Mark's question stopped the girl dead in her meal. The prying inquiry seemed abrasive to her.

"How did you know my nickname was Squirrely?"

"You told me at lunch during training today. Remember? Also, I think you also told me on the third day of training."

"Oh yeah. I surprised you remember that. Most kids just talked to pass the time. You actually seemed to care about those you talked to. Well, I take that back," she put her head down and spoke with a whisper, "Everyone but the careers. They did not want to include you like most others did."

"Hell with them," Mark shot back. "A lot of good their pompous attitude got them. Did you see the sky announcements lately?"

"Yeah, but that doesn't change the fact that we are all still here."

"Sure it does," Hank responded. "Right now, I'm fixin to think we are the killer pact. Reckon we have the upper hand."

"By we do you include me too?" Squirrely said shyly.

Mark nodded. He took a deep breath and told her about the conversation he and Hank had while she cooked. Mark apologized for his behavior earlier and told Squirrely how he just wanted to make sure he had her attention. He himself thought he went a little bit overboard though. Hank let her know that until the other four are dead, she's equal partners with them. Mark let her in on how they were going to track the others and the handshake deal between Hank and him. What Mark did not tell her is that the handshake would come after she herself was gone. The unpleasant though of her being the odd one out in this alliance was something neither Mark nor Hank was comfortable enough to discuss.

As the three ate, Hank talked about how the two met and how that killed the careers that first day. Squirrely was almost in disbelief. If she had not seen the faces of the careers as part of the fallen, she would never have guessed that these two were telling the truth.

"You never answered my question. What have you been up to," Mark asked his new partner.

"Just trying to survive I guess."

"Ok, but that still doesn't answer the question."

Squirrely told the boys about how she immediate ran from the cornucopia the moment the Games began. She saw all the weapons so close and knew she would have no chance. She told them of how she hid just inside the wood line and watched the opening slaughter. She told Mark how he was almost killed by a Career throwing a tomahawk at him as he ran for supplies. It just barely missed him. Mark took the tomahawk out of his waist band and showed it to her. She pointed to nodded. All Mark could think of at that moment was how lucky he had been at the start. All he had achieved was an extension of his good fortune at one moment in time. He shuddered to think of how the games would be if he was hit.

Squirrely continued to tell how she took off once a lot of tributes were fleeing instead of grabbing supplies. The careers were able to take advantage of the close weapons to kill most who tried to grab something or make a stand. She abandoned the idea of sneaking in while others were occupied once she saw that it was hopeless. She just turned and ran as far away as possible. She grew up in the forest so she felt pretty confident she could hold out for while with what she knew. Her escape was a fast sprint. She told of how she quickly became disorientated and accidentally started to head back to the clearing. During her turn around, she heard a lot of others running away though she never saw any of them. The fallen leaves made a good indicator that others were around. A few times she stopped and hid to make sure no one was around before she took off again. Eventually she found herself alone.

She found water and food quickly on the first day. In a small spur, she followed a stream to a larger stream that was flanked by oak trees loaded with acorns. After drinking and scouting the area she assumed she had a good base to begin surviving with. The area had large tracks of trees that she could climb and hid in. The water was drinkable and some of the larger pools contained fish. For a tribute with absolutely no gear, she assumed that things were looking up.

It was just before dusk on the first day that she noticed them. At first, they were barely noticeable, but quickly they spread. Burrowing up form the ground and eating everything around them, they spread like a blanket over her new hiding place. They were huge, nasty and they consumed everything. Ants, large colonies of half inch long black ants.

Squirrely continued to tell the boys how once the ants smelled her down wind, the immediate began to move towards her. Though their pace was no faster than an average human walk, they moved in great numbers. She ran up hill and circled around hoping that the growing mass of the creatures would move on from the acorn rich grove, but alas they ate everything. They moved out form the foot high nests that extended up from the ground and consumed whole areas. After a while she had to move again. The ants were moving up trees even and stripping them bare. Only hollowed masses of the once mighty oaks were left. These creatures were a vicious plague to anything in their immediate area. She decided after a while that she needed to be as far away from them as possible. If she rested during the night, she could become trapped or consumed by the colonies before she was even able to wake up to the horror. Squirrely had seen may things in the woods back home in district seven, but nothing like this. The game makers had put them here for a purpose and she was not about to hang around and find out anytime soon.

Over the next two days, Squirrely made her way in the opposite direction of the swarm. She found multiple water sources as she tried to put distance between herself and the ants, but only a few water sources did not taste bitter. Any pool of water that was not flowing tended to carry the bad taste. She didn't know if the water was poisonous or not, but she was not going to take that chance.

Aside from a small ball of roots she discovered yesterday near a streams edge, there was no food here in the arena that she could find. The acorns were eaten by the ants and there were very little signs of small game running about. The fall weather had killed the grasses and some of the open fields she passed looked like they had been plowed like the harvest had just happened. This whole place was a dead landscape as far as she was concerned. The goose they were eating was the first real meal she had had since the games began. There were other birds in the skies, but all her attempts to get close or find nests had failed. She knew that if she was having trouble finding supplies, others were too.

The three sat in silence as they finish the rest of their meal. Mark retraced Squirrely story in his head and pulled out everything he needed to fill in pieces of his plan. He didn't know what the issue with the ants was, but it was clearly a game maker's device. He contemplated what effect they would have on their ability to maneuver and hunt. Mark also though about the fire that was creeping though the arena that they had accidentally set. Here were two large walls of death that were moving in on them and others. It worried him that soon they would not have room to move if they made the wrong choice in their routes.

In the distance, a cannon sounded. Another tribute had died somewhere in the games. All Hank could do was smile. Only three left to hunt down.

"I wonder who it is," Squirrely remarked.

"We'll know tonight," Hank replied.

"Speaking of tonight," Mark added, "we need to find water before the day is out. Better get moving. Because it ooks like we're done here."

Hank gathered up the remains of the goose, about a third of the original amount, and wrapped it up in the parachute that he kept from the previous night. Squirrely took notice of Hank's trophy and knew that they boys had help. As Hank placed the food in his bag, Squirrely looked on in amazement in what the boys were carrying. To her, they were clearly overly prepared for what lies ahead. Before Hank zipped up his back, he grabbed a long shoe lace he had removed from a dead tribute and one of the foot long serrated knives. He passed the supplies to Squirrely with a small grim and a wink.

"What are these for," she asked.

"You can make a spear. Reckon you'll be walking point for us. You'll need protection." Hank was all business now. "Mark will scamper a few meters behind and I'll mosey up the rear. If we come across someone, the first person they'll reckon is you. Hopefully this won't skedaddle them off too fast. It could be what we need for Mark and me to bushwhack em'."

"So I am the bait?"

"If that's what you want to call it, but I'm fixin to reckon it more like a diversion."

"Whatever. Not like I have a choice," Squirrely replied with a half hearted smile


	19. Chapter 18: Hurding the Pack

The smell of burning wood began to fill the air as the trio moved towards the stream the boys used on day two. The closer they got to the source, the more Mark knew that this would be the last time they would visit. The fire that he and Hank started while burning supplies had crept towards them the last few days. They would need to take full advantage of this source. Who knew when they would find another source of water? With the addition of Squirrely, their reserves would only last a day. That made Mark a little uncomfortable at this stage in the game. They had been so careful to prepare and anticipate events. Lack of water could render it all for nothing if they did not keep catching good fortune. When they reached the source, smoke could be seen wafting through the forest.

"Drink up, it'll be the last time we use this," Mark ordered.

"Maybe the fire will pass it by," Squirrely added. Mark just looked at her with doubt.

Once Hank and Mark filled up and purified the containers, the trio began to chug all they could. Mark had told them all to super hydrate. The group would have to anticipate going a few days without finding anything to drink. Mark didn't know if the water sources that Squirrely knew of were still viable or accessible.

The trio sat by the water's edge and relaxed for part of the early afternoon. Mark kept a good defensive position throughout the time they rested. He was always on guard against threats. His paranoia about being ambushed was worrying Hank a little, but the thought of being safe quelled his fears. Squirrely spent a little time between drinking binges looking for food along the water's edge. The shallow stream did not contain any fish, but did have signs of small game. This was a mute point since soon the entire area would be consumed in flames. Her only option was the plants that lived close to or along the water. After a small search, she found some water born plants with roots could be eaten. By the time she was done harvesting, she had collect enough for one meal for the group. Add to that the left over bird and the food in the packs, and the group had enough food to be comfortable for the next three days. From her prospective, this was something almost unimaginable. She would at least be fed even if her chances of surviving the two boys were slim.

When the smoke began to get thicker and the sound of the crackling and burning brush became louder, Mark set out on a small recon to see just how far the fire was from their position. He did not have to walk long. It was only about a two minute journey before he saw the edge of the fire line. The end of the relaxing afternoon by the stream had come. The unease of find more water had returned and the hunt for others was back on.

Racing back to the pair, Mark could taste the acidic smoke in his mouth. The plumes of white smoke irritated his throat and he coughed loudly as he approached his allies. His hacking announced his arrival as he made a twirling motion with his right index finger towards the sky and point to the woods behind them. Hank quickly refilled the water containers and packed them away. He added Squirrely's extra food and donned the pack. The peace of the day was over.

The three moved out fast and took to the high ground. They moved on the opposite side of the ridgeline as they moved back towards the spot where they first encountered Squirrely. She led the way, but made it a point to avoid her old camp site. She knew how to get back to one of the other water sources, but was aware to avoid old routes as to not set patterns. Mark's instincts told him that he was not the only one planning to trap his opponents.

The noise made them all stop dead in their tracks. It rang though the forest like thunder, but not as loud. It was the sound of the cannon. Another tribute was dead. Now, there were only six left and three were not part of this alliance. Both Hank and Squirrely suddenly felt hope. Maybe that tribute died of the elements or lack of supplies. Mark though of something entirely different. He wondered who was doing the killing and how. He knew never to assume the death of a tribute was the simple fact of the arena killing them. His mind was instantly entertaining the possibility of other tributes hunt like they were.

After a long day of moving to dry stream beds and bitter tasting water hole, the group nestled into a good defensive position of the night. As twilight approached, Squirrely was sent up a tree to scout for possible fires in the evening light. Despite her great vantage point, she was unable to find any sign of a fire. While she was up there, Mark and Hank set small traps around the perimeter of their position. The thick pine grove would be their camp for the night and Mark did not want to give anyone the opportunity to sneak up on them. Though he wanted to hunt at night, Mark sunned the idea until they could find another water source. He had no reason to force confrontation and with only three tributes to hunt down, time was on the trio's side for now. The alliance had a great advantage with their supplies and weapons.

Just as darkness set in, the three dressed in additional layers of clothes the boys packed on day one and prepared for the cold night ahead. They could see their breath forming little clouds of white vapor that disappeared the second after they appeared in front of their faces. They all knew it would be a cold night. Squirrely was about to prepare a fire, but Hank stopped her. He knew the value of stealth at this point. Squirrely immediately protested that the group was too strong and powerful to be toiled with. She argued that the others are cold and scared and not as organized, equipped or trained like them. She asked why they should freeze when they had the advantage. All Hank could respond with was that her line of thinking led to Mark and him killing the careers so fast and early. If there was one thing that Mark was not going to let them do, it was to allow them to get arrogant and cocky. No matter what the situation appears to be, Mark knew that things can change fast in the arena. Hank was a fast learner of his partner's wisdom. As the trio sat back to back and wrapped the blankets around them to share body heat, Squirrely quietly murmured about the fire one last time.

Soon the sound of the anthem could be heard and the sky illuminated with the pictures of the fallen. The cannon fire earlier in the day was for the boy from district twelve. How he died was not revealed, but that still only left three other tributes left.

Mark and Hank both made talked about the group's competition. The boy from eleven was still alive. He was still considered the most dangerous as far as Mark was concerned. The girl from nine was out there, but Mark still did not think her much of a threat. Finally, there was the girl from district six. She continued to remain the wild car of the three opponents. Even Hank did not know how to assess her. She had survived this far, but so had the girl from district nine. There were not careers to actively and effectively hunt the weaker tributes and the trio had not aggressively trying to hunt yet. There were a lot of unanswered questions in Mark and Hank's minds. Squirrely remarked is that she thought she had seen the boy from district eleven grab an ax when the games first started and then run for the woods. It was a credible piece of information that the group could use to plan, but nothing that they could build a strategy on.

Mark was just about to break into his pack to issue the nightly meal when they all heard the sound above them. It was the faint calling sound of the parachutes falling to them and announcing that someone somewhere out them was sending help. All three parachutes landed just next to the wrapped up pile of tributes. The grey silk of the parachutes were each adorned with a red number, one number for each of the three district tributes that were about to receive a gift. Squirrely just stared in disbelief as Hank recovered the gifts and handed them out. Mark only looked up to the sky and smiles. He knew what was in the containers before he open his. The warmth of the package gave away its contents to him immediately. Hot soup, this time with a piece of bread, was a welcome treat on a cold night.

"Didn't think you were going to get something like this when you woke up today," Mark asked Squirrely who was already sipping on her feast. The three ate in silence in the dark. Each of the tributes held their bowls under the blanket to keep in the heat as they slowly sipped on the soup and dipped their bread in it. Mark knew that the group act was playing well with the sponsors and he knew he had to keep it up. He had nothing to lose from it on the short term and the soup was a great bonus. The big question to him was what happened when it was time to end the alliance. He hoped that the group would hold together till it was just the three of them left, but he had to be ready for the unexpected. Despite the lingering thoughts of betrayal, he relaxed in his meal and soon drifted off to sleep.

When Mark was awakened for his watch near dawn, he could smell the fire moving in on them. By the time the sun came up, he knew they would have to move out fast. Mark did not want to get boxed in by the approaching fire and he did not want to have to run for his life any time soon. He woke the others just as they had effective light to move out and quickly began disabling the traps they had set. The material he used would be gone by the end of the day and every scrap of material counter in the arena.

After skipping breakfast, the trio headed along the ridge searching for water or signs of the other tributes. The alliance moved fast and deliberate in order to make effective time against the approaching blaze. Mark did not let them stop until the afternoon when they found a small stream after descending from the high ground. They trio could not smell the fire anymore, but they were not about to take the chance of letting it flank them in the still windless day.

The stream was cold, but the water was welcomed. Just like the day before, Mark made them all over hydrate to hedge their chances of survival. Hank commented on how he never thought they would find another stream so quickly. Squirrely added that there was a large lake on the far end of the area. She had seen it when she was escaping from the ants on day one. The only problem was that the water was in an area probably consumed by the swam. All this talk was dismissed by Mark, who had no time for wishful thinking when the fire was driving them towards possible conflict.

Just before moving out to another hard day's movement, a good lunch was enjoyed by all. Watered, fed, and rested was a good excuse to push the pace for the day. Both Mark and Hank knew they needed to scout new territory.

The rest of the day passed without so much as a sign of the competition. As twilight approached, the group came to a huge field that appeared to be plowed like at harvest time. Random barren corn stalks were mixed into the plowed dirt that were arranged in neat rows stretching across the field. The trio passed though the open area quickly, but did take the time to properly scout the tree line before entering the woods.

As the group entered the trees, Hank turn back to see the huge smoke plumes in the distance from where they had just come from. The forest was being consumed and the fire was in fact driving them. Hank knew that the game makers wanted them to move this way. They were pushing the trio towards the other tributes he guessed, but he could not understand why so slowly. He thought about the ants that Squirrely had talked about. Events like large swarms were not just random acts in the arena, they had significance. Hank thought that Mark was pondering the same thing, but decided not to engage him on it. As more tributes began to die and the arena shrunk due to the fire, Hank knew that he had to find a solution to staying alive past the alliance. Mark was becoming more dangerous by the day. He was more deliberate, more careful and planed way too far out. Hank knew Mark's skills with weapons and knew in open combat he was at a great disadvantage. He knew his partner was just as lethal as a career and Hank knew Mark did not intent to go quietly. Hank's only worry was that he would have to kill Mark before they formally ended their agreement. Hanks banished the thought, but knew it might be the only way to live. He was a better man than to stab someone who helped you in the back, but Hank also knew the cruelty of the games. Anything went in the arena, even disloyalty. His main fear was if his efforts to kill Mark early failed. Hank could only shudder at what Mark would do to him if he betrayed his partner.

The group made camp on the edge of the field. Though it was not the most secure location, it would enable them to see the approach of the fire. It also allowed them a large field of vision if other tributes were to move across the open plowed space at night.

Just as the sun dipped below the horizon, Hank spotted the thin haze just about the tree line on the far side of the field. It was definitely smoke from a camp fire. The forest fire was still some distance away and this could not be its advance so soon. Somewhere out there was a tribute trying to survive and stay warm. Somewhere out there a tribute was giving away their position. Somewhere out there Mark intended to kill this person down.

It was decided that they would camp at their current location for half the night. In the hours before dawn, the trio would sneak out into the field and crawl across to the area in front of where the fire was spotted. The group would spread out and wait for morning at the edge of the forest. When whoever it was woke up and began to move, the pack would detect their movement in the fall leaves and strike when the time was right. Mark did not see a need to move in the dark or alert the tribute to their presence with a patrol. He knew that whoever it was out there was most likely physically weakened by exposure and hunger. They would not be able to run far or fast once the group decided to pounce on them. The cold cruelty of the plan made Squirrely squeamish, but Hank had become accustom to Mark's ideas. He did after all assisting him in killing the careers.

After setting up sleep rotations, they bedded down for the morning's hunt. There was no parachute filled with hot soup on this cold night. Mark though it best. Though he wanted a hot meal, he did not want to give away his position right now. His guessed his mentors were thinking the exact same thing.

Squirrely began to sob under the blanket.

"What's wrong kid?" Hank asked in a somber voice.

"I don't want to watch tomorrow," she replied. "Whoever it is out there, they're a real person. They have family. I don't want to listen to them scream and beg. I don't want to watch them suffer." She began to cry as the tears chocked off her words.

"Don't worry, Mark kills fast and so do I," Hank replied. "Reckon that right partner?"

There was no response, Mark was fast asleep.

With Mark asleep, Hank and Squirrely talked into the night. Hank only wanted to calm her down, Squirrely was looking for reassurance. By the time she had stopped sobbing, all was well in the alliance. It was then that she told Hank what she really knew of Mark.


	20. Chapter 19: Death is a Blessing for Some

Morning came fast for the group. Mark woke the other for a quick snack before they set off into the darkness. He calculated that they had about two hours before full blown day light. That would be enough time to get into position and set the trap. Mark knew he was going to kill today and prepared himself. It had been a few days since killing the careers. What really plagued his mind was how he could not bring himself to kill Squirrely in cold blood. The thought of him being weak when the moment counted screamed at him in the voices of him mentors. He needed to do what was necessary, but part of him hoped that Hank might step up if things started to go bad for him. Mark was not about to add to the alliance today.

Just before crossing the field, Mark instructed both his partners on how to camouflage themselves once they were in position. It would have to be slow and deliberate as to avoid being detected, but could save the element of surprise. Hank could sensed Mark's desire to execute this kill right. He heard the same energy in his voice the morning they first met. He knew that Mark was focused by the way he instructed them on how to chase the tribute down. Hank also knew Mark was serious about killing when he handed Squirrely his spear.

It didn't take long for them to cross the field. The trio spread out about one hundred meters apart with Mark in the center with a ready bow, Hank to his left and Squirrely to his right. As they quietly settle in to the edge of the wood line, a small glow of light began to rise on the horizon to their left. The light that slowly grew did not have time to reach them before they were invisible to the world. All three quickly camouflaged themselves into the trees and brush. Mark's quick instructions were effective; they would not easily be seen.

Silence fell over the ambush site. The wild life was tame this morning, but as the sun rose the level of active grew. This was both a blessing and a curse. Quiet woods could spell danger to any tribute in tune with the forest. On the other hand, the white noise of the woods made detecting faint sounds tougher. Hank was sure that if the tribute had not moved since last night, they would surly hear their movements soon. The tribute was out there, they just need to get a lock on their position.

As Hank surveyed the wood line to his right, he could not see Mark's position. He was sure his partner was donning a similar outfit that he used to kill the careers on day one, but he heard not a single sound come from Mark's direction. Hank had no doubt that he would not have to kill the tribute himself, that task would surely be taken by Mark. He moved fast and killed quick enough so Hank would not need to join in. Eventually though, Hank would have to kill in order to survive. The thought could barley be entertained for the moment. He had no reason to fear Mark's intentions as long as others were still out there. He had confidence that Mark would hold his end of the deal and kill him last, but Hank had no doubt that Mark already had a plan for his actions after the handshake. Hank knew he would need a plan of his own.

After waiting for what seemed like forever, Hank looked to his right to see Mark fully covered in his wooded camouflage motioning to him. By the far off hand jesters and slight arm moves Hank knew Mark wanted him to move into the woods. Hank knew it was not a time to argue with the master of this plan and crept carefully into the brush. The sound of crunching leaves was low due to Hank's slow and deliberate steps. He was not totally stealth, but he was not completely announcing his presence. He moved about one hundred meters into the woods when he saw Squirrely far off to his right moving in as well. She was brandishing her spear and hunching down to mask her movement. Hank could not make out her expression, but he assumed that the girl wore a freighted stare. The one thing Hank could not find was Mark. Hank knew he was somewhere in the woods, but just too well concealed and quiet to find. This was a spin tingling though since soon Hank might become Mark's prey.

Suddenly there were sounds movement just in front of Hank. Then she appeared. The girl from district nine was now limping with all her might parallel to the field in a desperate attempt to escape. Even from Hank's vantage point about a hundred meters away, the girl's dirty clothes looked baggy. She hobbled on one leg as she desperately tried to escape her attackers. She looked back only for a second to reveal a sunken and frightened face. Her expression was one of absolute terror as she fled for her life. Hank assumed that the girl knew that whoever was coming for her was deliberately hunting her. She must know her attackers knew that she was here and that this was no accidental find. Hank took off in a hard pursuit.

The girl was in trouble by the way she limped with a purpose away from her assailant. She stopped suddenly and changed direction the moment she saw Squirrely. Though not a threatening sight, a girl wielding a spear would be considered a danger to a weak and unarmed tribute. Squirrely was not stealth in her movements, but knew that once the girl tried to run, she would have to pursue her. Hank did not know if Squirrely would kill, but having a partner in the hunt increased the odds of success. He was gaining on his target when he glanced around. To his surprise, Mark was nowhere to be seen. Hank knew his partner was the killer of the group, but was Mark playing a game with his own partners? Was Mark tested both he and Squirrely to see if they would kill?

Suddenly, the girl from district nine just fell down and did not get up. Hank was still twenty meters away when she went down and Squirrely was still some distance away. Hank closed the distance fast, but still did not see any sign of Mark. The hunter of the group was still unaccounted for in the chase. The moment Hank saw the body of the girl lying on the ground, it all became apparent to Hank why she had fallen. Sticking out of the center of her chest was an arrow. By the time Squirrely joined Hank at the kill site, the girl was barely breathing and was fading fast.

The two tributes just stood and stared at their prey with hesitant expressions as the dying girl gazed up with bloodshot eyes. Her pleading expression and the tracks of tears that ran down from her eyes were a bitter reminder to the two of what the games really were about. This girl could barely walk and yet they still chased her down. Hank felt dirty.

Their gaze was only broken by the sudden arrival of Mark in full camouflage outfit. He appeared out of nowhere and was suddenly standing beside them. Hank now knew why he had not seen Mark during the entire chase; he was hiding and waiting for the perfect shot. Hank realized that he and Squirrely were simple the hounds to flush the girl out for Mark to shoot. Once again, Mark had used him to bait and kill another tribute.

Mark was just beginning to raise his tomahawk when the cannon sounded. There was no need to thrash the girl now, she was dead. Hank could see the blank expression in Mark's face as he lowered his weapon. Mark was in his killing mode. The lack of emotion chilled Squirrely. He had been so terrifying and angry when he trapped her a few days ago, but she was shocked by the lack of emotion from him now that he had actually killed.

The emotionless moment from Mark passed fast. "Squirrely, go out there," Mark pointed deeper into the woods, "and pull security. If anyone approaches, just start yelling for them to get away. We'll be there soon after."

Squirrely frowned, but did as she was told. She made her way carefully into the woods. Hanks leaned down to grab the girl's shoe laces and check her for supplies, but Mark grabbed his shoulder to stop him. Instead, Mark carefully crouched down next to the dead body and pulled out his long knife. He motioned for Hank to crouch down and join him as he pushed the girl's face up to view the sickly girl's mouth.

"Look at this." Mark began. He pointed the blade of the knife to the black phlegm on the girl's lips. He traced the line of the black liquid as it ran down from her lips over her sunken cheeks. The girl looked emaciated. Hank thought that if the alliance had not killed her, the arena soon would have. Her eyes were blood shot and sunken deep into her skull. Those dead eyes were a far cry from the soft green eyes that squinted and laughed at Mark while he told jokes about the careers during lunch the second day of training. The girl's clothes were very baggy compared to how the clothes fit the rest of the members of the alliance. Since it had not even been a week yet, Mark wondered how such dramatic weight loss could have happened so fast. Though she may be dead, Mark knew that her body had lots of information to tell them.

"She was sick with something before she died," Mark commented. "The way she limped to get away looked strange, but it's this black stuff coming from her mouth that has me worried. Whatever it is it, it can't be good."

"Reckon she caught a case of something," Hank responded.

Mark moved his attention to the girl's blood stained pant legs. Carefully he cut long slits running from her mud stained shoes to just below her hip on her right side. Carefully, he pulled open the pant leg to reveal the cause of the blood spots. What he saw frightened him. Five oozing circular wounds, the size of quarters, ran up her leg. Each wound was black as the liquid coming from the girl's mouth and festering. Even after her death, the blood pooled on top of the wounds. The skin next to the black spots had spider web like black lines extending out and red patches of skin beyond them. Both Mark and Hank wondered if it was some kind of animal bite or if it was some sort plant infection. It was horrible to look at, even more horrible to smell. The first whiffs of the odor smelled like rotting potatoes and garbage. This was not the body odor of a girl who had not washed in a few days, both boys knew it was the smell of slow death.

Hank quickly searched the girl's pockets in an effort to get away from the smell. All he found was less than a hand full of roots and two sticks he assumed the girl used to make fire. Beyond that, she had nothing. She had survived the past few days with no extra gear or clothing. Hank wondered how bad the long cold nights took a toll on her. He finished his effort by taking her shoe laces like he had done with all the other tributes that the duo killed. Mark removed and stowed his camouflage outfit and made ready to move. Both boys' stomachs turned from the smell of the dead girl.

"Squirrely! We're ready to move." Mark yelled the command. He was still leaning down on one knee when she arrived

"What the hell happened to her," Squirrely asked as she pointed to the wounds on the girls legs.

"Don't know, but it made her wicked sick," Mark answered.

"It can't be tracker jackers. Those bulge up huge, but don't look anything like that." Squirrely knew a lot about them being from a hugely wooded district. Hank assumed that most kids there must get stung at least once growing up. The rumor was they were everywhere out in that district.

Squirrely pointed down at Mark crossing the girls hands and asked Hank in a low voice, "what's he doing to her."

"He's saying his goodbyes. He does it will all the tributes he kills," Hank whispered back.

"Sort of weird," she replied.

"Reckon we all have our ways of doing what we think is right." Hank reminded his small companion.

"Goodbye and rest, you pain is over," Mark whispered just loud enough so that his companions could hear him. A small moment passed before he moved.

"Her name was Dian. She liked my costume before the parade. Here hero was her older brother. He was killed in the Quarter Quell," Squirrely answered. Mark just stood up, looked around at his surrounding and pointed out into the woods. He made no sign of acknowledging the girl's remarks. He was focused on the future and the dead girl lying at his feet was the past.

"Let's go, we need to find water," Mark growled at his partners. In an instant he had gone from somber mourner to indifferent killer. Hank knew it was typical Mark, but Squirrely seemed taken back and scared by Mark's actions.

The three moved out with Squirrely in the lead with Mark and Hank following. They moved with a brisker pace than the previous day. All three wanted to put distance between themselves and the dead body of the girl. Something about those wounds troubled them all. It was a grim warning of what this arena could have in store for them.

They didn't travel long before they came into another large field, but this one was huge compared to the open spaces that the group had encountered before. The space was on a slight uphill and the crest was still in the open. It masked the distance to the next wood line. Hank estimated it had to be almost a half mile to the top. The space also was not plowed over nor did it contain any cornstalks. It barely contained a light coating of inch high grass that was patchy in places to reveal the dark earth it covered. As Mark peered out from side to side, the space seemed to stretch on for what seemed like forever in both directions. An open space like this would not lend any stealth to their movements.

The cold of the morning had barley relented and the thought of warm direct sunlight was welcomed by all three, but Mark was still hesitant to strike out into the open space. Rather, he placated to his and the others need to feed. Their decision to skip breakfast in order to kill a tribute was now an excuse to stop. Both Hank and Squirrely had no reservations on breakfast.

After feasting and watering their thirst, the group was just about to parley their next move when Squirrely hushed the two boys. She pointed in the direction that they had just had traveled.  
With an uneasy stare, they immediately starting packing up what was left of the food. Mark, still vigilant to any danger, listened carefully to what the girl had detected. Hank just prepared to move. He knew that when Mark was riled up, there was no time to wait lest he be left behind.

Suddenly, Mark heard what sounded like fleeing animals and the sound of crunching leave. Immediately he saw what looked like fat squirrels running towards them in disarray. These furry creatures were thrashing about as if in pain, but running in disorder. It only took Mark and Squirrely a second to realize they needed to move. Hank was already heading into the field by the time the other two started moving. Neither of the group looked back until they were about fifty meters into the open. The panic animals were a swarm that none of the alliance wanted to face, but the creatures did not leave the wood line. Instead, they climbed trees and hovered on the edge of the woods. None of the fat panicked beasts dared to leave the wood line for some unknown reason. These animals were the first priority of a threat to Mark, until he saw what they were running from.

It was Squirrely who pointed them out. "Ants," she said. Then as if by magic, they appeared from the forest. Like a dark blanket, they moved with the speed of a walking person over the forest and immediately began to cover and devour anything in their path. Hank was dumbfounded by the speed they moved and spread out. Any fat squirrel in a tree was instantly trapped by the half inch long killers. Those creatures that remained on the ground ran parallel to the wood line in an effort to flee the swarm, but never did they once attempt to move out of the forest. Suddenly, the shrieks of the squirrels that were bit by the ants began. The high pitched wails of the animals drowned out the sound of crunching leaves as the ants attacked and devoured their prey. Ever bird in the forest was also making flight to flee the onslaught. The furry creatures thrashed about as a dark blanket covered them. Soon, the squirrels were just black balls that rolled on the ground.

"Vicious little buggers," Hank snarled. He was clearly frightened of the sheer killing prowess of the swarm.

"See, I told you. These ants eat everything," Squirrely commented. She clearly felt vindicated with the swarm's performance. "And they don't leave the woods. They eat everything up until the field, and I do mean everything."

"Hell, reckon that is no way to die." Hank was disgusted by the display that unfolded before him.


	21. Chapter 20 The Games are a Changing

The trio struck out for the top of the hill that sat in what they presumed to be the center of the field. Neither Mark nor Squirrely looked back at the carnage that the ants were causing behind them. As long as they did not pursue them into the field, Mark did not care. Squirrely was too occupied at the front of the pack to look back. To her, the biggest danger lied in front of her. She knew Mark was using her on point as a distraction so he could make a quick kill, but she decided not to protest. He had taken care of her the past few days and the warm soup at night was a hard reminder that the sponsors watching liked the alliance. She now had a firsthand view of how Mark killed and did not want to be on the receiving end of the cold blank stare any time soon.

As the tri approached the top of the low hill, Squirrely cautiously moved over the crest. She knew better than to charge into a blind spot. Mark saw this and found new respect for his point man. She was a fast learner and was not about to take unnecessary risks.

The view at the top was stunning. It was about the same half mile distance down the low hill as it was up. The entire field was one huge rectangle that was bordered in fall covered woods. The area that the alliance had just come from was a black mass that occupied about half of a long edge. The swarm of ants had expanded, but did not seem to be growing as rapid as when they first uncounted them. Off to the right, the scared earth from blaze that Mark and Hank had set left blackened hills all the way to the horizon. The large plumes of smoke marked the present location of the fire that slowly made its way to the huge barren rectangle. Though not yet to the field broader, Hank thought they would not be able to use that section of woods very long.

Mark knew that this huge field was were the gamemakers would herd the tributes to make a last stand. Two sides already were being blocked off by fire and ants. Mark could only hope that whatever the powers that be had in store to close off the remaining side did not catch them. He felt confident that his alliance could withstand a final battle in the open.

"I guess we go down that way," Squirrely said as she pointed to the side opposite of the ants. There was no sign of fire or the swarm, but it did show signs of distinct low ground that could contain water.

"Reckon you may be right, but I think we might want to go that way," Hank interjected. He pointed his spear down to the left side adjacent to the ants. There, down the hill a figure was running parallel to the wood line. It was the girl from district six.

"Let's go," Squirrely shouted as she took off running down the hill.

"Hold it wild girl," Mark shouted. He stood firm and confident where he had been since they arrived at the center of the field. He looked in no mood to run at the moment. "She already saw us and that is a hell of a long run just to where she is now. No sense in chasing her. It may be a trap."

"We can get her," Squirrely pleaded.

"Reckon he's right. If I were her, I be fixin something to bushwhack us. If she's still alive, she ain't dumb." Hank stood firm with Mark on this issue. He was thinking the same thing as his partner. "Fixin we go the same way you first intended. We rustle up water, then we hunt."

Mark nodded in agreement. For the first time since this alliance started, he was not giving the orders. They were his exact thoughts and Mark saw no reason to add to what Hank suggested. He wanted out of the open terrain as fast as possible. The boy from district eleven was out there and might be watching. He could ambush them when they tried to enter the woods. Mark wanted to get back under cover and fast.

The trio descended down into wooded area fast. When they were just within arrow range, the three tributes fanned out into a line parallel to the wood line. The trio then took off in a sprint and zigzagged into the wood line. They stopped ten yards into the woods and collapsed down on Mark who was the center tribute of the three. All this was a precaution against a possible ambush. Anyone watching now knew that this was not a rag tag group of tributes, but an organized killing alliance. Mark had instructed them of this technique before they left the top of the hill as both a cautious and intimidating measure against possible assailants. He was not about to let his group get complacent this late in the games.

The group moved less than two hundred meters into the woods before they encountered brush so thick they could not move though it. It was a mass of thorn bushes and thin twisted vines that bunch between the trees. None of the three had any motivation to try and move though the tangled mess. Instead, Squirrely just turned right and followed the edge looking for an opening.

She did not have to move long before all three heard the sound of flowing water. The gurgling sound was just behind the tangled mess that lay to their side. Without hesitation, the group continued on their path searching for a way to reach the valuable resource. With such a possibly abundant supply and a defendable position against the thick wall, the group could make a camp later in the day in relative security. Hank even hoped for the possibility of a fire in such good terrain. He was growing weary and tired of the biting cold night. Thought the blankets and shard body heat helped, the nights were anything but fun. He could only imagined how the other tributes suffered though it.

After a short walk, an opening appeared in the vegetation. It was not wide, about the width of the two tributes, but it snake its way though the thorns and vines regardless. Mark did not like the limited space, but in the end he decided that they had to use the path. Besides, Squirrely always led the way. She could trigger any traps first. If he was to lay a trap, this was the perfect spot for it.

To all three's surprise, the wall of foliage was only about twenty meters thick and just a few meters past the opening was a sharp drop. Squirrely approached with caution then turned and smiled. She pointed down the steep slop of a ravine to a flowing stream of crystal clear water. The twenty foot sloping drop could be scaled to collect the fresh resource. The opposite slope was just as steep and the other side offered great field of vision to any tributes that approached.

"I'll pull security with the bow, you two can collect the water," Mark ordered scanning the woods. He never looked at his companions, but instead took a cautions look at the surrounding.

"Works for me partner," Hank answered. "Reckon I could use a drink right about now."

Hank and Squirrely descended the steep slope without many problems. The two dug their feet hard into the soft ground and braced themselves on exposed roots as they made their way to the stream. Mark waited till they both had reached the bottom until he threw down the water bottle to be filled. The two packs of supplies lay next to him as he crouched down and kept watch. The clean flowing water did not taste bitter to either of the two and they began filling and purifying the water. It did not take long to fill the containers, but the pair worked with haste. This was not the most ideal position to be in if danger approached. Squirrely was particularly uneasy in the ravine. She could almost sense something was wrong. Her face displayed an agitated look as she set about her tasks.

Then, Mark heard the crunching sound. He knew this could only mean one thing, ants. He immediately started scanning for signs of the danger. He knew that their position on the terrain was fragile. The noise seemed to be coming from the far end of the ravine, but for all he knew, it could be approaching from multiple directions. He had no intentions of becoming a meal for the vile black swarm.

"You need to move, now," he shouted. He knew this was dangerous to make so much noise, but he had no choice. They needed to hurry. "It's the ants!"

Hank and Squirrely wasted no time. They immediately threw the containers up to Mark and frantically tried to scramble up the steep sides. Hank was almost in panic as he thrashed at the dirt sides searching for anything he could grab onto. The dirt gave way every time he tried to dig his feet and hands into it and he continuously slid down. The panic grew worse with every failed attempt he made trying to climb out. He was breathing heavily and was frantic by the time Squirrelly grabbed him by the arms and shook him.

"This way," she screamed and pointed to up stream to a small group of trees sticking up from the side. By the time they sprinted up the fifty meters, Mark was there to meet them.

"Hank," Mark yelled, "Look at me. You have to settle down and focus. We still have a little time." His voice was calm and easy.

The moment did not last long. Though the crunching was growing louder, Mark heard something else. It was the sound of someone or something moving towards them. It was too large and loud to be the fat squirrels or other small game; it had to be another tribute. The crashing of branches and the rustle of leaves was heading in his direction just off to his left of the far side of the ravine. Mark drew back his bow, knelt down and prepared to kill whoever came into view.

Then, the unknown tribute came into view though the foliage. It was the boy from district eleven. He was running for his life with a panicked expression and looking constantly back to the direction he had just come from. Mark knew that the boy did not see him yet and nor would he before Mark put an arrow into his chest. He knew that this would be an easy shot.

The boy defiantly had help from what Mark could observe. The thick brown coat was not something that was in any of the supplies at the cornucopia. This must have been a gift from a sponsor to keep him warm. He did not look overly thin from lack of food or over exposure to the elements and he was not suffering from the same illness as the girl from district nine. Finally, his right hand clung to a two foot long sickle blade. This was definitely not like any of the weapons at the start of the games. Someone out there was betting that this boy could win the games and was helping him. While Mark and his alliance had received warm soup, the boy from nine, who most likely took very little from the cornucopia, had been handily supplied from the outside. In a few seconds, it would not matter, Mark was about to kill him now. The moment was almost ready for the perfect shot.

Mark fired just as the boy reached the edge of the ravine and slowed down. It was a perfect release, but something was wrong. The arrow struck the boy directly in the chest, but bounced off. It knocked the boy from district nine off his feet, but did not stick inside of him. Mark immediately reloaded and executed a second shot. It struck the boy in the side of the back, but it also bounced off. Mark was stunned and so was his target. The boy from nine now saw his assailant and quickly scattered behind a tree. All Mark could think was that the jacket was some sort of armor, a gift of protection from someone who wanted to level the playing field against Mark. A third shot would prove useless. The boy was pined down on the far side of the ravine and the ants were approaching from that direction. With a little luck, the arena might take care of the problem for Mark.

Looking down, Hank was close to the top. Mark lowered a hand down to pull him up, but never took his eyes off the tree the boy from nine was hiding behind. With a mighty pull, Mark lifted Hank up and over and shouted at him to get the bottles in the packs. The first signs of the ants were appearing in the near distance and they only had a few minute to be out of there. Suddenly, the boy from district nine took off parallel to the ravine zigzagging from tree to tree away from Mark. Mark paid him no attention as he fled. He had other tasks to attend to.

"I'm slipping," Squirrely yelled. "Help, please help!"

Mark saw the first black spots appearing on trees. Time was up for the alliance at the ravine. He just hoped that the boy from nine would not make it across. He stared down at Squirrely with a cold expression. His face began to go blank as a look of complete terror flashed across her face. Panic set in on the girl as she now realized what was at stake and what was about to happen. Then, Mark lowered his hand for her to grab. She thrashed her right arm and grabbed the outstretched life line. The panicked expression left her and Mark lifted her to safety.

"You didn't think I was going to leave you," he asked her.

"I, I, I wasn't sure, but…" Her words trailed off.

"We have an agreement, remember?"

There was no response. The expression of gratitude on the girl's face as she looked away told Mark that she was just as happy to be out of the ravine. The two exchanged another glances before she finally spoke.

"Thanks for saving me," she chocked up as tears stared to stream down her face.

"We have to move, now," Hank yelled.

The three took off for the opening in the wall of foliage. Mark slung the bow over his shoulders as he began to move. Squirrely and Hank grabbed the packs as Mark scanned the woods for signs of the boy from distinct nine. The ants were now making their way down the far end of the ravine. The group would be out of the woods before they swarm even reached the other side of the stream. Mark intended to wait on the other side of the thick wall opening in an ambush for the boy from nine. A well placed trap and shot to the head could negate any armor that boy wore. Mark wanted to eliminate him fast. He was well too equipped and sponsored for Mark's comfort.

They were almost at the opening when Mark heard the running behind him. He turned around to see the boy from nine charging him. His jacket was buttoned up and he was only seconds from him. The sounds of the ants provided him the stealth he needed to get close. There was no time for Mark to remove the bow from his back. He grabbed his tomahawk with his right hand and prepared to fight. Mark had no time to run. He knew that the boy from nine would be on him before he could make the turn into the opening. He had to fight. Though the boy was taller than Mark by almost a half a foot and faster in his movement, Mark had not choice but to face him. A last glance back told him Hank had already taken off thought the opening and did not see what was about to take place.


	22. Chapter 21: A Terrible Way to Die

The boy from eleven cocked back his right arm with the sickle in hand and lobbed a haymaker at Mark. Mark stepped into the swing and caught the arm of his assailant between his side and his left arm with the blade behind him. Mark immediately drove into the boy and knocked him back as she slammed the tomahawk into the boy's left leg though the boy from eleven did not go down. Instead he head butted Mark in the temple and pushed away in vain. Mark jabbed his right fist, still gripping the tomahawk, into the boy's ribs continuously while keeping his head close to the other boy to avoid the head butt. Suddenly, the boy form the eleven kicked Mark's leg out from under him and both boys tumbled to the ground. Mark held his weapon while the boy from eleven dropped his sickle.

The two scuffled around on the ground. The boy from district eleven threw several punched that landed on Mark's face. He was fast and agile and did not appear to be weak. As they both clawed and thrashed at each other, Mark was not able to leverage the tomahawk to land any effective blows. The two boys grunted and jostled at one another until the boy from eleven was able to slide behind Mark and grab the bow with both hands. He immediately pulled back on the weapon and yanked it onto Mark's neck. The suddenly strangling move panicked Mark as he tried to buck the boy off of him in vain. Mark dropped his tomahawk in a sudden moment of panic. The boy from district eleven pressed his body close against Mark and pulled harder on the bow. The crushing feeling his throat and the lack of air sent waves of adrenalin though Mark's veins and caused panic in the calm killer. In a state of despair, Mark suddenly got a hold of himself and calmed down. He had been trained how to fight and how not to fight. He suddenly knew that this was all or nothing and he had to stay calm.

Mark rolled to a sitting position as he tried successfully to push them both towards the ravine only a few feet away. They were almost to the end when the boy from eleven leaned all his weight forward and stopped the progress. Then, Mark began to go limp and keeled forward. His strength seemed to relent as he was slowly choked to death. The pressure he exerted on the bow subsided and his fight for air faded. Thought he ants were approaching, Mark gave out hope that they would be there any second to help him in his struggle. He also wondered just where Hank and Squirrely were. The boy form eleven leaned in more as Mark continued to go limp from lack of breath.

Suddenly, Mark lunged up and snapped his head back with all his strength. He connected his head directly with the face of the boy from district eleven. The hard blow of the head butt smashed the nose of the boy from eleven breaking it on contact. Simultaneously, Mark thrust both hands up and out against the bow. The move ripped the bow from his throat and sent it across his face and over his head. Mark was free as both boys fell back and slipped over the edge of the ravine. Mark gasped for breath as he reached down for his tomahawk and steadied himself to keep him from falling further into the ravine. Ants had now crossed the stream and were making their first steps onto the dry land of the other side. Time had almost run out to get away from the swarm. The boy from district eleven had slipped half way down the slope, but was moving back up when Mark turned to face him. The bottom half of the boy's face was covered in blood form his gushing broken nose. Mark also saw the bow now down at the bottom of the ravine. Ants were just beginning to move across it and it was all but lost now.

The boy from eleven pulled a small knife from his waistband as he charged up the sloped. Mark climbed up over the top and stood ready to knock his assailant back to the bottom. He had less than a minute to get away he guessed.

The boy from eleven slashed at Mark to no avail. He was fast, but was fighting up hill. Both boys were tired from the fight and Mark was still choking in breath, but he held the high ground. The boy lunged up from the ravine again and slashed, but missed. His eyes were wide in panic. He knew he was in a bad place. Mark slashed diagonal with the tomahawk and missed the boys head by and inch, but counter slashed back and caught the boy's left hand that was holding him in lace. He immediately began to slide back. The black swarm was now at his feet and moved up his leg. The boy from district eleven let out a howl in pain as the first ants bit into his flesh.

"Mark!" Hank hollered just behind partner. He moved up beside Mark and looked down into the scene unfolding below him.

The boy from district eleven was frantically swatting at his legs as he tried to push the ants off of him. Screams of pain erupted as more ants bit into him. The black mass had firmly engulfed the stream and a thick layer of ants were marching up the hill towards its prey. Suddenly, the boy from district eleven frantically charged up the hill in an effort to get away. Complete fear and panic engulfed the boy as the thought of being slowly devoured by the back swarm became a reality.

Mark grabbed the spear from Hank. His partner did not even resist him taking the weapon from him. Mark steadied himself and swung the weapon around just as the boy neared the top of the ravine. The side the spear struck the boy on side of the head and he fell against the earth. His right hand clung to the side of the ravine and prevented him from falling back. Without though, Mark recocked the weapon and skewed the boy's right hand sending him sliding backing deep into the swarm of ants.

The screaming began immediately as the ants swarmed on him. They instantly tore into his flesh sending blood curdling screams from the poor boy. To Hank, the screams were worse than when Mark had cut off the arms of the girl from district one. The boy from eleven thrashed about trying to climb back out, but ever effort was meet in vain. He was nearly covered when Hank turn away to vomit. The sight had overwhelmed the boy. Mark took one last glance then turned to his friend.

"We have to move now," Mark insisted. His voice was hoarse from the choking he had just received.

Both boys ran towards the break in the brush. The black swarm had just moved over the side of the ravine in some places and was closing in. The exit thought the wall of brush was almost cut off as the boys ran towards it. The horrible screams of the boy from district eleven could still be heard as they hurried away. Hank was barley able to keep the vomit down as he ran. His stomach turned from the horror he had just witnessed. They both reached the exit just as the ants did. Hank took the turn with a leap while Mark crashed into the thorns as he rounded the turn and fell. He quickly got to his feet and ran.

As they cleared the thick brush, Mark felt a sharp stinging pain in his right leg. It felt like he had just been stabbed with a hot knife in his calf. The pain was excruciating as he looked down to see no foreign object protruding from his leg. All of a sudden his stride gave way and he tumbled to the ground. He swatted at his leg to feel a hard crunch just above his ankle. Mark pulled up his pant leg to reveal the sight of a half crushed ant at the site of the pain.

Before he could even react, another sting bellowed into his leg just below his right knee. Mark immediately swatted and punched at the site to be rewarded with the same crunch as the first wound. Pulling his pant leg up further, Mark saw another crushed ant at the pain site. His leg howled in pain as the wounds immediately began to bleed. Pools of red crimson mixed with a black liquid began to flow from the wounds down his leg. In a moment of panic, he used the handle of the tomahawk to clear the remaining ant parts off his body then he quickly check the other leg for lingering assailants.

"Let's go," Hank yelled as he came back to grab his friend. "Whatever it is, we can fix it later."

Hank yanked Mark to his feet and both boys took off to the clearing. They could still hear he screams of the boy from district eleven, though they were growing fainter. Whatever hell he was suffering in was not letting him go quietly. Mark knew the gamemakers would not let those creatures kill fast. As slow suffering death was good entertainment for the Capitol and they would play it out for as long as the boy could squirm.

Squirrely was there at the edge of the forest. She was looking around frantically before she spotted the boys approaching. They were almost to her when Mark suddenly began to limp. He struggled though a few steps before his right leg tightened up. The burning pain was growing worse. His stomach churned and he suddenly felt hot.

"What's wrong with him," she asked as she pointed to Mark. Besides the limp, Mark looked like he had been in one hell of a fight. His neck had a large long bruise from where he was choked with the bow and the left side of his face had a small cut on the forehead from the head butt. His face also showed signs of the blows it had taken in the scuffle. He was a mess.

Hank didn't even get a chance to explain before Mark keeled over and vomited all the water he had drank just a few minutes ago. He knew he was in trouble from the ant bite now. It was just a question of how lethal that venom was.


	23. Chapter 22: Going Seperate Ways

"Why didn't you just kill him," Hank screamed at Mark as he tried to catch his breath. "Do you hear that? That's him still screaming as they eat him! Reckon you could have spared him this!"

Mark still had not lifted his head from his round of harsh vomiting. Bent over on one knee, he was still having fits of dry heaves as Hank berated him. Gasps of breath were followed by loud bellowing retching as Mark's body tried to expel every last bit of fluid in his stomach. He did not even appear to notice Hank yelling at him. Finally, when he was he was done retching, Mark lifted his head.

"Why? Why the hell did you not just spear him in the head?" Hank was almost hysterical as he screamed at Mark. "Fixin you was mean, but I never reckoned you were cruel. He's still screaming down there because of you!"

Mark stood up slowly and stared at his partner. The color had returned and a hateful scowl flashed across his face.

"And where the hell were you when I needed help," Mark calmly, but forcefully demanded. "I don't think you noticed, but I had a little trouble with him." He pointed to the large bruise that ran across his neck. The reddened area was beginning to turn a shade of purple. "That could be me down there right now. You ran and didn't look back, but I had to stay and fight. These are the games Hank, people don't always die easy here."

"You pushed him down there. You knew what was going to happen and now…" Mark lunged at Hank and pushed him back with full force. The sudden outburst surprised Hank as he struggled to maintain his footing. He stumbled back a few steps before stopping and charging back at Mark.

"Stop it, both of you," Squirrely screamed as she jumped between Hank and Mark. She held out extended arms to both boys as she attempted to keep the situation under control. Things were getting worse and she needed to maintain some sense of order.

"We ran, ok. We just took off. We thought you were right behind us," Squirrely yelled at Mark. She dropped her spear and pointed her finger directly at him. "We were scared. We never looked back until we were almost clear of the woods. That's when Hank noticed you were not there. He went back for you Mark. He was the one who was worried, I was too scared. I left you, not Hank!"

Hank eased his stance, but never dropped his aggressive stare. His eyes burned into Mark as the screams of the boy from district eleven echoed up from the ravine. Mark never dropped his aggressive pose. He was not yet satisfied with what had just transpired. His leg was burning and stomach was sick. An ach had started in his muscles, but he did not let on that anything was wrong. He fumed in rage as he continued to star Hank down. Finally, after a few silent moments he spoke.

"I shot him twice with arrows while you two were still in the ravine," Mark commented in a calm voice. "His jacket was some kind of armor. The arrows just bounced off." Both Hank and Squirrely look on in amazement at the revelation. "I couldn't just try and spear him though it, it would have not done any good. I missed with the head shot so I took the next best option. He almost killed me Hank. I was not in the mood to give him another chance at me. If you think you could have done better, well, you were standing there right beside me."

Silence fell over the trio. Squirrely moved away from the two boys. The tension of the moment had passed. None of the members of the alliance wanted to speak next. The screams that filled the background were growing faint, but not disappearing. The moment was not over yet.

"We can't help him Hank," Squirrely spoke in a low voice. Hank only signed and lowered his head to the ground. The sound of the dying boy was maddening to him.

"We need to move, now. I don't want to hear this anymore." Hank turned, picked up his pack and began to walk into the open field. He was almost fifty meters in the open before Squirrely picked up her spear and the second pack and began to follow. Mark was right behind the girl, but walked with a slight limp. The pain in his leg was awful, but he would not allow himself to show how bad he was suffering. They were getting near the end of the games. Mark did not want to give his partners a reason to turn on him so late in the fight.

The trio was almost at the top of the hill when Hank turned around to see Mark lagging behind. The strong and always focused killer was not appearing like his normal self. He occasionally stopped to take hard hacking coughs before continuing up the incline to the top of the hill. The sound of the screams had died away as Hank cautiously crested the hill. He made a deliberate effort to scout the area over the crest for any signs of their last remaining adversary, but there were no signs of danger anywhere. Squirrely was right behind, but Mark labored up still a little ways down. The first two sat down as they watched their partner slowly make his way to their location. Finally, Mark joined them at the top.

"How bad is it," Hank asked Mark pointing to his right leg. Two red patched had formed on his khaki pants were the bites were located.

"Manageable," Mark replied as he sat down. "It burns like hell. Now I know what was wrong with the girl from distinct nine."

"You think she was bitten," Squirrely asked.

"I know she was bitten. Whatever venom those ants have, it's pretty painful." Mark tried to conceal the weakness he was feeling. The poison in his system was acting fast and sapping his strength even as he sat down in the warm sunlight on the cool fall day.

"You gonna be alright," Squirrely asked.

Mark paused before he answered. "I'll be good enough to get the girl from district six." He stared out into the only stretch of forest not over run by ants or smoldering in flames. Just down the hill, in the last section of virgin woods, the games would be decided. Mark knew he had to finish this fast. He had no idea how long he would be healthily enough to fight. When the moment came to break the alliance, he did not want to be the weakest member of the group. If the girl from district nine had showed him anything, it was that the ant poison was a sure death sentence if not taken care of.

"She's watching us right now. I'm pretty sure of it," Mark mused. "She saw me limp up here. She knows something is wrong. We can use that."

"Reckon I'm not following your figuring partner," Hank responded in complete confusion.

"As a trio, we are a problem for her, but one of us alone and weak is an opportunity for her. We can bait her and kill her."

"How," Squirrely begged.

"Hank, I want you to yell at me and point aggressively when you talk to me. She won't hear what we are saying, but it will look like a fight." Mark suddenly rested back on his elbows and grabbed his leg.

"I'm not following you," Hank shouted and pointed his spear at him. "Is this some sort of joke?"

"No," Mark yelled.

Suddenly, the sound of cannon firing broke the mood. Back down in the ravine somewhere, the boy from district eleven was finally dead. Hank was thankful that his pain was now over. Though his screams were now finished, Hank could not get the horrifying image of him thrashing in pain and covered in ants out of his head. The thought alone made him feel sick.

"Four of us left," Squirrely shouted at Mark while pointing her finger. Mark bent over and let out a hacking caught. This was not part of any act, he was really having a hard time breathing.

"I get it," she said. "We make it look like there is a break in the alliance."

"Right," Mark answered. "now, I get to play the bait."

He stood up and back away with a limp from the other two tributes. He brandished his tomahawk in an aggressive manner as he laid out the details of the plan. This would be a rouse for the girl from district six to fall into. A weak tribute, abandoned by his friends, and barley able to fight back would make a great target.

The details were simple. First, the three would stage a fight. Then, Hank and Squirrely would leave a debilitated Mark for dead and head into the woods. The pair would walk about two hundred meters in, turn right and walk another two hundred meters parallel to the field. Mark would crawl and stagger after them some time later, but enter the woods at a different location, about one hundred meters to the left of where the pair entered. The he would simply collapse from exhaustion and his injuries just inside the woods. The girl form six would see all this and hopefully assume Mark was a goner and an easy target. Hank and Squirrely would hunker down and wait for her to attack Mark. When she did, the two would rush in and trap the girl. If she did not move in by night, Hank and Squirrely would creep a little closer and wait. There was no guarantee of success, but it was a clever option now. If ants or fire came, they would all simple meet at the woods edge and run the girl from six down in the open field. There would be nowhere to hide by then.

"What happens when we kill her," Squirrely asked in a confused voice.

"Well, I reckon this little alliance we have here goes away," Hank answered in a morbid tone. "No hard feeling to both of ya'll, but this here is the games I reckon." Hank smiled at Mark who was coughing again.

"Yeah," Mark answered in a low mellow tone. All three stared at each other in silence. The morbid though of killing one another hung over them all. They all knew that it would happen eventual, but none of them talked about it until now. Mark assumed that up until then, both Hank and Squirrely knew what he was capable of, but with the sudden change in health, their odds just improved greatly.

In truth, Mark knew he could not go on with the two in his condition. He was growing weaker by the minute and would not be able to hide his pain much longer. By offering himself up as bait, he could hide whatever was to come and not make himself easy prey once the alliance broke. He was half sure that Hank would stay true to their agreement, but he was not about to steak his life on it. Squirrely was even more of a chance he did not want to take. Mark was hoping that he could kill the girl from six quick and still have strength to fight. He had no clue what his allies would do if given the chance to kill the leader of the pack if the moment arose.

"Are you ready," Mark asked with a raspy voice form coughing.

""Hey partner," Hank spoke, "if this all don't work out once we leave, reckon I should tell you thanks now." He stood up and smiles at Mark. Hank had a good suspicion that this would be the last conversation they would have. His partner was fading fast and his plan sounded more like a desperate idea instead of the carefully constructed traps he had laid so far.

"Trust me, this won't be our last conversation. You still owe me a hand shake," Mark replied.

With that, Hank took a swing at Mark with his spear as they rehearsed. Mark stumbled back and smiled, the pain that shot though his body from the poison quickly wiped the expression form his face. He drew his tomahawk back and took a swing at Hank that missed by a small amount. Squirrely just backed up and circled around the side. She held her spear at the ready, but did not approach the two boy's act.

Mark fell to his knees and Hank thrust with the handle end of the spear. Form a distance, you could not tell which end was which. Mark caught it between his left side and his arm and jerked at the weapon, and then he fell back. Hank moved in, but Mark swiped at him with the tomahawk. He tried to stand up, but fell back the second he was on his feet. Mark pointed his tomahawk at Hank then Squirrely and began to shout.

"Traitors! Traitors! I'll kill both of you," he screamed. Hank back away as Mark fell forward. He caught himself with his left hand and looked up a Hank. Instantly, he began screaming again.

Squirrely moved back to Hank. They both picked up the two packs and began to back away from Mark. When they were about twenty meters away, they turned their backs to him and continued to walk away.

"Get back here! Don't you leave me! I can still fight! PLEASE!" Mark howls were only broken by hard coughs. He continued to scream as the two walk away. For someone watching from a distance, the scene must have been sobering.

"I will kill both of you," Mark screamed and collapsed face first to the ground. The rouse was on. Now, did he have the strength left to capitalize on it? He was taking a risk, but he had no choice. He was no fool to what was happening to his body. Time was of the essence and he needed to make a bold move.

As Hank and Squirrely both descended down to the woods, neither looked back to Mark. They walked silently as they moved on.

"Reckon I don't think we should have up and let him do it," Hank commented. "I'm fixin to say he ain't right in the head now. Something from those bites got to him."

"Hank let it go. He's dangerous. Maybe it's best for both of us if he just dies up there," she responded.

"Hold it right their girly, that's still my partner up there. He may be a little loose in the head, but that feller has been good to me." Hank raised his voice as he spoke to Squirrely. "Still," he added in a lower tone, "Reckon Mark is unpredictable and can be rather bossy at times. A feller like that can wear on you if you let him."

"I'm not saying it's a good thing he's dying, but the kid can barely walk. He's really sick. You saw what those bites did to the girl from nine." She spoke defensively, but never looked over to Hank.

"He ain't dumb, but I reckon he's not fixin how bad he really is. I don't think he might make it through the night." Hank's voice turned somber as he spoke. He was scared of Mark, but at the same time he was worried for the boy who was his partner. The words hung over both tributes as they made their way into the woods.

Up the hill, Mark watch the two disappeared into the trees. They entered just to the right of a large tree with radiant red fall leaves. This would be his target as he clawed his way forward. He knew that this trek would take a lot of energy he simple did not have now, but he would make a show of it. He intended to let the girl form six know where he was at. He had to lure her out and what better way than to serve up easy prey.

It took the rest of the day form Mark to limp, stagger and crawl down to the wood line. What would be an easy walk just that morning was now an exhausting effort. His leg burned and itched in pain. His muscles were sore and slow to respond. His whole body felt weak and he felt like he was burning up, but he was not sweating. His hand ached when he tried to grip the tomahawk as he entered the forest. He felt that if the girl from six, or even his allies, were waiting for him, he most likely could not defend himself. He was dying slowly from the ant bites. He was all alone in his pain and torment.

Mark collapsed in the exact area that he had told his partners he would be. He was shaking from cold one minute, and then burning up from a fever the next. He could barley manage to tie the trip wires made of shoe laces around his position. It took all his might to carve a series of sharp sticks to place in front of the trip wires to help protect him. This was a far cry from the killer who disposed of the career pack. In an instant, the games had changed for him. Mark was sure he would make his last stand in this spot. No matter how futile it was, he intended to go down fighting. The odds were now not in his favor, but he was prepared to die well.


	24. Chapter 23: Dying in the Dark

Day quickly turned to night and the temperature plummeted. The harsh cold was now upon Mark as he suffered in the dark. This is how the rest of the tributes lived and Mark knew it. His state alternated between burning fever and shaking cold as he suffered silently. The calm night showed no signs of mercy for the boy who was making his last stand. The nightly announcement of the fallen offered no surprise or comfort to him in the dark night. He was paying a great price for killing today.

Mark had hoped that the girl from six would show up soon. He hoped he could have it out with her and hopefully survive long enough for reinforcements to arrive. This whole plan was a gamble, but one that he knew he had to take. As he grew weaker, he knew his allies might grow bolder. He needed to mask his true lack of strength from the illness. Somewhere out there, Hank and Squirrely were waiting. After the girl from district six was dead, Marked just hoped that Hank would stay true to his word and only attack him after Squirrely was dead. The thought of having to fight two at once in his present state did not bring any joy to the sick tribute.

Mark could only imagine the furry in the Capitol over a fight between two friends. It seemed like the end the gamemakers wanted. It was almost fitting. Prior games had close allies fight to the death for final victory with great fan fair. His mentors had told him of how sponsors would line up to assist tributes to ensure a final bloody battle between close friends for the whole country to see. It was all for a good show. The drama of two tributes turning on one another like wild animals was something that was almost encouraged. One victor ensured a savage end to even the closest relationships.

Shivering in the dark, Mark suddenly smelled something that made his blood boil. The distinct odor of soup came wafting into his nostrils and filled him with rage. Somewhere just up the hill and out of sight Hank and Squirrely were eating soup. The warm gift on a cold night had always been a welcome sign that Mark was doing the right thing and to keep it up. At moments when Mark had wondered if he should break alliances, the gift was always a strong reminder from his mentors that he was on the right track.

Tonight though, the sponsors had bestowed a great gift on his partners, but not on him. Mark suddenly felt lost. If he could be effective, he mused about sneaking up the hill and killing Hank and Squirrely as they ate, but he knew better. He was getting weaker by the hour and was constantly surprised at his lack of strength and ability. Starting a fight now did not have any benefit to him. His jealousy would have to wait.

All was not lost with Mark. Just as he decided to set his temporary feels aside, hope appeared. Softly and quietly, a parachute slowly drifted down to Mark's position. The large three indicated that the gift was unmistakably his. Quietly he retrieved the gift that landed just a few feet from him. It was not large enough to be a bowl of soup nor did it radiate heat like a meal. Instead, the package was a small brown box with lettering that Mark could not read in the low light, but he could see the bright red picture of a large X over and ant. This was more valuable than food, it was medicine. This was a change of course for the sick tribute. The timing of the delivery was not even a coincident. His mentors did not want the others to know he was receiving a gift. They must have known that Hank and Squirrely would be distracted by their gifts to notice any help to Mark. If this medicine worked, Mark would have a great advantage over his allies and the girl form district six. All of them knew he was suffering badly and weakened by his sickness. He knew his mentors were sending him a message to play the sickness for all it was worth. Now all he had to do was get well.

Mark quietly opened the box. He did not want either his allies or his enemy to know what he had. Upon opening it, Mark found one syringe and a small stainless steel cylinder. However these things were used, they would hopefully bring him back from the path of death he was on. In just the few hours since he has been bit, Mark's condition had reduced him to a crawl. Whatever the timing of the gift was, sponsors clearly wanted him well enough to kill again.

At first, Mark squinted and held the box close. Then he tried holding it up at different angles in the open night. Neither helped him read the print on the box. The light was simply too low. Mark was not about to take a chance on using the medication improperly when it was clear instructions were provided. He had to figure out a way to read the print. After some time and deliberation, Mark decided that the best solution was to fake his sickness even more and start a fire for light. Though he was freezing and the fire would help him survive the night, it went against his training and preparation. Not like the girl from six did not know where he was at. Mark had made real sure of that before dark. Mark just could not think of any other way to read the instructions.

It only took a few minutes to scratch a small fire together. The matches he held onto since the beginning of the games were finally being used. The dried leaves and kindling he found around his position lit easily and burned fast. The lack of any rain during the games, though part curse and blessing, made the whole arena a tinder box. The immense amount of scorched earth he witnessed told him that. Finally, Mark read the saving words.

The medicine was a two part treatment. The syringe was to be administered anywhere between the bite sites and his vital organs. The cylinder was full of cream to be placed on the bite marks. Both would help him. The only questions for Mark was how long it would take and to what extent the medication would work. Nothing mentioned how the medicine would work or what it would do to the recipient, but Mark knew he was out of options. He needed to use it and fast. He was careful to hide the box and its condense from prying eyes so he waited till the fire died down to administer the cure. He was shivering badly in the cold night. Without a blanket or the body heat from an ally, he was experiencing the full force of the cold the game makers inflicted on the tributes. He hated the idea of losing the warmth of the fire so fast, but he had larger priorities.

Finally, the fire die and Mark was ready to administer the medicine. He picked up the syringe and removed the cover. With a single thrust, he injected himself in his hip above the bite marks. It burned the instant he injected the medication. The feeling of a hot poker radiated at the point of injection. Slowly, it spread down his leg and up his body. Mark wanted to cry out, but he clinched his jaw shut and held back the scream. The pain was excruciating. He wallowed on the ground for what seemed like forever burning in pain. Finally, he forced himself to roll up his pant leg and apply to cream to the bite marks. The aching in his hands grew worse than before with the medicine flowing in his veins. Opening up the cylinder was a chore that strained his ability to control his screams. Mark wondered if this gift was really a curse that was given to him. He wondered if the game makers sent him the gift to slowly and painfully kill him for the amusement of the crowds. Maybe despite all he had done, the Capitol wanted to make a painful example of him for some unknown reason. He wondered if this was really the end as he spread the cream over the bite marks.

Mark felt the itching from the bites suddenly disappear, but the pain coursing though his veins did not. He huddled in a fetal position on the cold ground and ached slowly. Suddenly, the pain lessened, but did not disappear. Instead he felt sick in his stomach and wanted to puke. The feeling grew with every passing though as the burning moved into his stomach. When he stopped fighting, he dry heaved loudly until something squeezed out of his empty stomach. It was not enough to even fill half his moth, but he immediately spit it out. Mark resolved himself to the fact that the cure would not be pretty, but might save his life. The ant venom was most likely artificially designed and manufactured for devastating symptoms, so removing it might be just as bad. The game makers did not overlook any detail of misery when it came to the games. He saw that fact with what the venom had done to the girl from district nine after he killed her. Mark knew that he would share the same fate if not for the help. All he could do now was ride out the cure and hope for the best. If the girl from district six or his allies came while the cure worked its magic, he was doomed.

After a while, the burning sensation subsided and the aching wore off, but he was still weak. If Mark just lay still, he felt somewhat alright. When he moved though, he muscles flared with pain. He also began to develop a fever at an alarming rate. The cold of the night subsided from his point of view and he began to sweet profusely. Within minutes he was soaked. Mark then began to shiver and that movement led to more pain. He could not help the whimpers that escaped from his mouth. He knew somewhere out there others could hear him. He only hoped they did not approach. In the dark of the night, even his vision became blurry. Mark was in a vulnerable place. He just hoped it would pass before daybreak. Finally, after he could bare it no longer, Mark passed out and fell into a deep sleep. His last though was a glimmer of hope that it would soon end for him.

Mark came back to conciseness slowly. It was the shivering from the cold that brought him back to his senses. He did not open his eyes at first, but rather listen carefully to the world around him. The woods were silent except for the rustle of some leaves being moved by the wind. The world was motionless. He could not hear any signs of a person near him. For all he knew, the world had not changed since he lost conciseness. Slow, he opened his eyes to reveal the pre dawn light filtering in though the forest.

Mark flexed his finger slowly to test his body. To his surprise, there was no pain. The burning and aching feelings were gone. The bites on his leg ceased to itch as well. He wondered if the painful cure had really restored him to the state before the bites. Mark mused that the medicine erased all the effects of the venom. Slowly, he rose with much difficulty and leaned against a tree. He was freezing cold and his body shook uncontrollable from his hypothermic state. Mark knew he was far from alright.

Then, he heard the sound of crunching leaves. His senses quickly homed in on the noise coming from up the hill. Whoever it was, they were coming down from Hank and Squirrel's position. Mark wondered if one of his allies were coming to check on him or possibly finish him off. The though moved his hand to his tomahawk as he waited for the approaching tribute to appear. He was not sure of his condition, but that did not matter now. He may have to fight regardless of his state. He knew how fast fortunes could turn in the games and how he would have to make due.

Finally, the approaching tribute appeared in front of him. It was the girl from district six. She was skinnier than Mark remembered her. Beneath her eyes were large dark circles and her once soft skin looked dirty and worn. He clothes were baggy like she had lost a lot of weight in the past week. Mark wondered if she had eaten anything at all. He brown hair was pulled back into a makeshift pony tail, but looked knotted and with single strands darting everywhere. This was a girl on the brink and she looked desperately determined to kill. Mark knew he was about to get into a fight to the death.

He tried to stand up as she slowly closed in on him, but he fell back against the tree. His body was still a little off balance from the sickness. The noise drew her attention and she stopped dead in her tracks and stared him down. She saw him and he saw her. She pointed a make shift spear made out of a thick branch at him. With a sharpened tip, it was not the most effective weapon, but it could surly do harm. A moment of silent calculation passed between them as each one tried to assess the other. She clearly decided that Mark was not ready to fight. He lay back against the tree not moving or even attempting to struggle. To her, Mark looked weak.

Just before she charged, Mark noticed what else she was armed with. He was suddenly filled with hot rage at the sight of what was in the girl's left hand. It all became clear to him what he had to do. Sick or not, recovered or still recovering, Mark knew that today would be the last day for him in the arena no matter what.

In her left hand was Hank's tomahawk.

Suddenly she charged at him.

About two hundred meters up the hill, Hank was awakened by the sound of the cannon firing. He looked up and scanned the wood line for any sign of movement. He couldn't see the position where he thought Mark was, but he kept a vigilant watch. Next to him, Squirrely sat silent under the blanket. No words passed between them. The silence was only broken by the sound of rustling leaves in the cold morning air.

Suddenly from out of nowhere, a hovercraft appeared over the area that Hank thought Mark had been last night. Squirrely pointed as a claw lowered into the woods to retrieve the body of the tribute that the cannon sounded for. As it rose, the lifeless body it contained laid limp in its grasp. The dead tribute's extended arm had what appeared to be shoe laces wrapped around it. As the claw rotated, the number three could be seen on the upper part of the sleeve of the jacket. Large blood stains covered large parts of the jacket as well.

Hank felt a brief moment of relief that his once partner was now no longer among those still in the games.

"You made the right choice," Squirrely whispered into Hank's ear as she gave him a hug.


	25. Chapter 24: Hank's Last Hug

The last time Hank received a hug was the day the games had started. Down in his small launch room, he and his stylist, Felecia, sat making small talk while both awaited the games to start. It was an eerie calm than embrace the room. The cold concrete walls and cold interior made Hank's last moments indoors a depressing experience. Soon, he would have to fight for his life. He wondered why after being pampered in the Capitol's luxury the past few days they chose to make the entrance to the games so cold.

Felecia bantered on about Hank's rough back round on the range being an asset. She tried to bolster his spirits with her own special version of a pep talk, but it was all in vain.

"Ma'am, can you do me a favor? Reckon since this is the end for us, can we just speak in plain truth." Hank was solid and direct with the happy woman. The stick sweet personality was not helping him in these last moments.

"Well, I never thought you wanted to really hear the truth. It is sort of, well, different," she responded in shock.

"I fixin to die out there. That's the plain truth ma'am. I know it and so do you. Let's just stick with that. Pa don't raise no fancy talkers."

"Ok then, if you really want the truth," she paused and pursed her lips if to hold back a terrible scream that was boiling in her. Felecia looked off into the corner, then turned back to Hank and dropped the happy smile for a blank serious gaze.

"My boy, I hoped you made the most of your time in the Capitol because you are going to die young." The words were cold and heartless, but rang with a sense of honesty.

"That's more like it," Hank remarked.

Felecia continued, "I've seen many tributes come and go. They all lie to themselves in one way or another. They tell themselves that the odds will truly be in their favor, but sadly, they are not. They all die in one way or another."

Hank could only stair at her in the cold silence of the moment. She had delivered exactly what he had asked for, but he was not at all a surprised by her answer. It was in fact the plain and ugly truth. Hank knew this for all it was worth. These would be his last hours if not days alive. He made no illusion to what he was getting into.

"Thank you," was all Hank could reply with. He sat down on the small table against the concrete wall and smiled. Felecia walked over and sat beside him. She pressed up against the boy so they were side to side and smiled at him. Hank started to stared off into the distance, but turned his head as Felecia put her arms around him and gave him a slight squeeze.

"I've watch six tributes go off into the games, but none with your conviction." Her voice sullen and her face pained with sad emotion. "I've never like this part of the job. It is hard to watch the tributes go off. You know they are not coming back, but you smile and fake it for their sake. You try and make it easy on them."

A silence filled the room. It was only broken by the sound of Felecia pulling back tears and trying to contain her emotions. Hank was suddenly shocked by her display. He had always assumed that this woman was cold and heartless to the suffering of the tributes like most of the capitol citizens. He never suspected that under the makeup and fake smiles there was a caring woman. All this time, she knew what she was doing to him. She kept up appearances for his sake, but inside she hated what the end result was. In those last moments of calm, Hank understood that not everything in the Capitol was evil and corrupt.

"You know," Felecia continued, "I never watch the games, I only watch the results. I can't stand to see the killing. I never developed a taste for watching tributes fall into the madness of the slaughter or the cruel devices of the gamemakers." She paused for the dramatic effect Hank had come to expect from her.

"I watched the first year I had a tribute. She died slowly of wounds from an animal attack. It was heart breaking watch her slowly slip away. I couldn't sleep for three days. I was haunted by the memory of the girl weeping for her father. It was hard to accept that I had prepared her for that fate." Felecia's voice was almost at a whisper when she finished speaking. She hugged Hank tight and kissed him on his forehead. It was the last gesture of kind physical emotion Hank had felt up until Squirrely hugged him on the cold morning.

Hank turned towards Squirrely in their warm blanket wrap and spoke in a way that resembled Mark's tone. He knew that the girl from district six was just down the hill. She had killed Mark, but from the sound of the leaves on the ground, she had yet to move from the position. Hank listened intently for any sign of her approaching.

"Reckon she is out there and I'm fixin we need to take care of her," Hank remarked.

Squirrely started to stand up as she spoke. "I don't think she'll be a problem for us," she replied.

"I hope not," Hank commented. He wanted this to be over now. He did not want to have to spend another night in the cold. With Mark dead and only two girls left, Hank finally felt hope. For the first time, Hank thought he might actually have a chance. All he had to do was plunge into the dark space that Mark seemed to live in almost the whole time he had known him. He was going to have to kill on his own if he wanted to go home.

As Squirrely began to stand up, Hank though of what it would take to do the deed.

"Are you ready to…" The words Hank was trying to deliver were cut short by a sudden piercing pain in his back and chest. He looked down to see crimson red suddenly staining his jacket. Then, he felt a hard thump to the head and the world went black.


	26. Chapter 25: Call Me Mason

Mark limped his way up the hill towards where Squirrely and Hank had positioned themselves yesterday. Every step displayed a labored state and were full of effort. His jacket was gone, placed on the dead body of his latest victim before he let the hover craft take her away. The morning air was freezing and his breath bellowed large plumes of white steam in the cold. He was freezing, but continued to stay focused on the task at hand. The rustle of the fallen dried leaves left little stealth to his movements despite his best efforts. He labored along, showing his weakened condition. The task at hand would be difficult, but he hoped that with all his preparations and all his training, the odds would be in his favor. The night had been hard on him and his leg had not fully healed despite the medicine. All Mark hoped to do now was regain contact with the two other tributes he was allies with.

"It's a cold morning out to be wandering thought the woods with no jacket on," Squirrely said in a condescending voice. She stepped out of from behind a tree just in front of Mark.

"Is the fever that bad? Are you burning up so much just to survive in a t-shirt?" Her words had bite and edge. The slight smile across her face displayed a superior confidence over her once mighty ally. Large plumes of white haze flowed from her mouth as she spoke in the cold morning air.

"Still alive aren't I?" The words were labored as he clung to the small tree he was using to hold himself up. Mark's shoulders were hunched forward and his breath was labored as he spoke. Squirrely knew that the poison from the ants was killing him slowly; there was no disguising Mark's affliction. He could barely stand up and his movements were labored. Mark was no longer the imposing figure he was just a day ago when he led the alliance to lure the other tribute.

"Hank and I didn't think you would make it through the night. We heard you coughing all night. After the fire, we didn't hear a thing. Both of us wondered if you were done for. Guess we were wrong." Squirrely smile broadened to a smirk.

"It was rough, but I'm still here and now it's just us three. I figured you know that now." He could barely get the words out with his labored breath. "Guess my plan worked, so did the traps." He held back a cough till he was done speaking then let out a vicious series of hacks ending with his spitting a wad of phlegm onto the ground.

"Even while you're slowly dying, you are still a dangerous guy. Not any of those traps up here though. Hank didn't think we needed any with you pulling all the attention towards yourself last night." The smirk was now back to an evil glance and her voice was even more condescending. The steam from her breath emulated an evil look to her. "I guess your plan did work."

"Yeah, it did."

The evil smile reappeared before she spoke. "Draw the last tribute out with you as bait. Smart, very smart Mark. Way to take one for the team. The sick and dying killer offering himself up really played well. I guess she really bought it."

"Lucky for me she wasn't so careful on her approach. Planning helped surprise her," Mark responded with a small smile though his scene of pain. Mark was leaning harder and harder on the tree. He was barely able to speak without coughing. The whole conversation seemed to labor on him.

"Guess that made it easy to kill her? Thankful for us we did not have to rush down through your traps to save you. You must have got a good jump on her in your condition."

"Yeah," It was all Mark could respond with under Squirrel's cold gaze. She was dominating as she loomed over him just a few yards away. The game of cordial words could not last much longer Mark though.

"Well played Mark, well played." Squirrely clapped her hands slowly in front of her with outstretch arms and smiled with all her teeth to show an evil grin. This was not the scared girl who cried at any sign of stress. This was a cold and calculating tribute who knew when to reveal herself.

"Thank you," Mark tried to bow, but fell to his knees. He let out a long hacking cough and spit more phlegm onto the ground. He braced himself with one hand to keep from falling flat on his face. He looked up to his partner with a freighted expression. Squirrely knew she was in control now.

"Well, almost," Squirrely abruptly stopped her clapping and returned her face to a serious scowl. "Hank really thought you were dead, but I wasn't so sure when the cannon sounded. It was the hover craft picking up the body that told me you were still alive. Though the body had your jacket and the shoe laces around the arm, it was the right pant leg. Yours had blood on it; the body leaving the arena did not." She lowered her gaze and stared right though him with hate as she spoke, "Nice try district three, but not good enough."

Squirrely picked up the spear that was resting at her feet and held it facing Mark. He took a good look at it from his position on the ground. It was covered in blood.

"So where is Hank," Mark asked submissively. He knew his partner wasn't dead. There was not a cannon blast since he killed the girl.

"Around… somewhere. I don't he'll be bothering us though." She was almost giddy in her response. "I couldn't have him capable, but I couldn't have the cannon tipping you off. I had to make sure we settle our difference first." Her tone shot back to a harsh and deadly hiss. She had played the two boys and now she was about to deliver her end move.

"Don't worry," she added, "he'll be following you real soon."

Mark only grinned before he let out a series of hard coughs. All along he knew she might be trouble near the end, but this was far beyond what Mark thought she was capable of.

"I have to hand it to you Squirrely, you played me well." Mark smiled for a second before trying to pull himself to his feet. His weak mannerism and laboring movements were a far cry from the agile killer that disposed of the careers just a week ago.

"You two even sent someone else to finish me off, well done. The problem is she couldn't finish the job."

"Oh, we didn't send her to kill you. I sent her to try and kill you," Squirrely accented the I as she stared him down. "I knew you had something waiting for whoever approached. I just needed her weakened and you wounded. The rest would have been easy, but thanks for disposing of her. Was it Hank's hatchet that tipped you off?"

"Yep," Mark slid back down against the tree, too weak to hold himself up. He came to rest on his knees and propped his upper body up with his left hand.

"Poor Hank, he sleeps so sound. I hoped you would assume that he slipped her the hatchet." Her words bellowed to him. She looked over to her right for just a second before darting her attention back to Mark.

"When I noticed your rouse with the hovercraft, I knew that it was time to settle up with poor Hank. Nice try though. Making us believe you were dead. I knew you would try and kill us both, but I was not about to take the chance of a three way confrontation." She was almost giddy in her assessment and her confession.

"I bet the kids back in district three are laughing now. Their fierce killer is now played by the girl who could not stop crying. You're no better than the careers. You should have killed me when we first met." She stopped for a second and stared Mark down. "That's why the careers didn't want you; you were too weak to do what was necessary."

Squirrely was in the spotlight for all of Panem to see. She had tied up all the loose ends as far as she was concerned. One tribute was too weak to stand and another she had butchered almost to the point of death. She was going to bask in her moment before she sealed her victory. She flaunted her deception over Mark and punished him not in physical pain, but in mental anguish. She knew he was too weak to fight her. She knew that if he could, he would have killed her by now. She let her hate for him wash him in regret as she moved in for the kill.

"Stop," Mark was on the verge of tears. His whole victory was about to crumble. All the right moves Mark had made were being washed away by Squirrely arrogance to him. "Please stop. Just kill me you bitch. I can't take anyone else laughing at me anymore, just do it." His voice went hoarse as he screamed the words at her. Mark slumped back against the tree and tears poured from his face. He tried to stand again to face Squirrely upright, but fell back to his knees. All Squirrely could do was chuckle at her weak prey.

"One last thing Squirrely," Mark asked as he choked back the tears, "what's your real name?"

"Call me Mason," She replied. Then, she charged at him.


	27. Chapter 26: The Best Laid Plans Can Fail

"Please!" Mark cried out as Mason thrust the spear at his chest.

A sadistic smile sprang to Mason's face as she braced for the impact, but it never came. Just as she committed to spearing Mark in the chest, he sprang to one knee and twisted his body to the left and the spear missed him complete. Mark dropped his left arm down and trapped the shaft of the spear between his arm and his body then grasped the shaft with both hands. Instantly, Mason tried to pull away, but that only helped Mark spring to his feet as he jerked back on the spear. Mason was thrown off balance towards Mark. With his right side facing Mason, Mark violently struck her with a hard blow from his elbow. Her small fame, void of any fat to cushion her ribs, was rocked by the blow and she instantly released her grip on the spear.

Mark whirled the spear around and delivered a hard blow with the shaft to Mason's left knee just as the girl regained her balance. Mason instantly crumbled to the ground and clutched her wounded leg. A small yep of pain escaped her lips as she attempted to defend herself from her attacker. She tried to jump back and gain distance from Mark, but it was no use. Mark drove the spear into her right calf with a violent thrust that sent a splattering of blood over the dried brown leaves. Her right hand instantly reached for the wound as Mark withdrew the weapon for what seemed like another strike, but he did not stab at her again. Instead, Mark twisted his body to strike with the back end of the spear. The violent blow struck Mason on the left side of her face sending her turning around and falling on her front. Mason was too stunned by the blow to scream. In a matter of seconds she had gone from powerful killers to incapacitated victim. Suddenly, she realized that she was going to die.

"Please!" she screamed.

Mark kicked her hard in the stomach. All the wind suddenly rushed out of her lungs and she struggled to suck in air. She flailed like a fish put of water for a few seconds as she struggled to breath.

"Please, please," Mark taunted her. "What happened to the mighty girl who was about to kill the big bad kid from district three? Where the hell is she now?"

Mark's head darted around as he surveyed his surroundings. "Hank!" His voice was loud and booming. A look of concern flashed upon his face, but was quickly replaced with a scowl. "Hank, where are you?"

"Please," Mason choked though her gasps.

"I think we are beyond that point now Mason. Or is it Squirrely?" Mark swung the spear to deliver a powerful blow to Mason's back sending a dull thud though the air. She tried to scream, but was gasping too hard from the shock of the blow to let out a sound.

"It doesn't matter what the hell your name is. You could scream a thousand different names to me all day, I don't care. And let me be honest with you, I'm not going to make this quick. You betrayed us!" Mark voice was filled with hate and rage. He scowled down at his victim while making quick glances towards his surrounding looking for Hank.

"The lowest circle in hell is reserved for the traitors, but why should you wait for death Mason? We can get started right now on hell. What do you say?" Mark was almost psychotic in his delivery. Hate burned in him from her actions.

"Hank, Hank, where are you?" Mark scanned the surrounding woods for signs of his partner.

"You though I was sick. You though I was weak. You thought I was dying. Well, you thought wrong. While you ate hot soup last night, I got something better, medicine. Guess you didn't see that coming." Mark kicked her again. She tried to reach for a knife in her belt, but Mark stomped on her left hand. Her pinky and ring finger bent with a snap. Again, Mason tried to scream, but was stopped again by her gasping for breath. Mark grabbed the knife and placed it next to the tomahawk in his belt. Mark leaned down to scream at Mason. The steam rose off of his bare arms in the cold morning air, but Mark barely noticed the weather around him. He was completely focused on the task at hand. By the time the elements could get a hold of him, the games would be over.

"You know, she confided in me before she died. She told me all the little details, your little alliance before we found you, the meeting when Hank and I were trapped by the ants, and the plan to finish us both. Yeah, it was hard for her to speak with the crushed windpipe, but she made a good effort of it. I think she was motivated when I started to peel the skin off of her face!"

Mark stood up and circled the limp body of the Mason while searching the woods. His face grew more menacing with each passing moment. His breath was calm, but his movements were sharp. This was a far cry from the sick boy that could barely walk a few hours ago. The medicine had been successful and his rouse had worked. Mason was not going to be able get up and cause problems anymore. Mark knew now all he had to do was be patient and find Hank. His partner still owed him a handshake before he settled up with him.

"Now, where is Hank?"

Mason raised her right arm and pointed into the woods. Standing on her right side, Mark raised his right leg and stomped on her arm right below the elbow. The loud snap signaled that he had broken her arm. Mark never changed the hate filled look on his face. Mason let out a labored gasp, inhaled then finally released a blood curdling scream. Tears burst from her eyes. She kept on screaming though no sound came out after a few seconds. All the air had escaped her lungs. She jerked her head up and down as she tried to bellow in pain. Finally, she inhaled and screamed again. It was horrifying the way the girl cried for mercy that she knew would never come.

Mark scanned the direction in which Mason pointed but saw nothing. He turned towards his victim to strike her again, but paused. Mark raised the spear with both hands and skewed Mason in her left thigh. Blood immediately stained her khaki pants and spread to the ground around her. She never stopped screaming from the broken arm, but yelped louder when the spear cut her leg wide open.

"Now Mason, Squirrely, or whoever you are, you stay right there." Mark raised his spear to strike her again in the back. The furry and hate rushed though his veins.

"Her name is Jenny Mason and you don't need to do this to her Mark," Hank screamed with a pain filled labored voice.


	28. Chapter 27: The Ugly Truth

Hank pulled himself up and leaned against a tree. His left hand was clutching his stomach, blood was everywhere, and his breathing was heavy. His khaki pants were also stained red. The leaves that covered him were sticking to his clothes as he attempted to remove them with his right hand.

"Her name is Jenny Mason." Hanks breathe in heavily. He gasped in his breaths as if some heavy weight was placed on his chest. Blood ran down from the right side of his mouth and he prepared himself to speak again.

"I thought you were dead," Hank chocked up.

"I thought you betrayed me," Mark replied. "But I guess little Jenny here just redeemed you." Mark kicked Mason hard in the side. The girl just let out a small yelp.

"Stop it Mark," Hank coughed up. "Just stop it."

Mark stared at his partner. Hank's body was limp as he rested against the tree. Blood was everywhere. His head was turned up and his skin was a pale color. The leaves Hank had brushed away revealed the extent of his wounds. Mason had stabbed him multiple times in the chest, back and legs. The wounds were flowing openly and staining his clothes and he lay on the ground dying. His chest barely moved as he struggled for breath.

"She crossed us Hank. We fed her, protected her and…"

"So what! You kept her alive to use her," Hank gasped heavily to catch his breath. "You were just going to kill her. At least she had the guts to stand up to you."

"She played us. She stabbed you while you were sleeping and sent a girl to kill me." Mark fumed with rage.

"Reckon you need to get off your high horse partner. This is the games. Winner takes all. No better than what you've done." Hank stared back at Mark.

"What do you mean Hank?"

Hank sucked in a large breath. "We were never friends, fixin' to let you know. I was just the scared kid too terrified to cross you. I just didn't want to end up like her." His words burned like hot coals in front of Mark's face. All this time Mark assumed he had a loyal alley. It didn't make sense to him. Mark knew it had to be a mind game. Why would Hank have reason to be so cold to him so late in the games? He had nothing to gain from Mark's prospective.

"Come off it Hank. This mind game is not going to work."

"Ain't a game pal." He paused to suck in a breath. "You ain't no better than those kids you killed the first day. One difference is they knew they were fixin to do bad. You… reckon you're too full of yourself to admit you are a bad killer."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Mark turned defensive and took a step towards Hank.

"You really don't get it, do you? You ain't the valiant kid just trying to survive. You're the bully. You're the career! You ain't the victim pal!"

Mark stared in stunned silence. The only noise he could hear was the weeping of Mason. Mark tried to respond, but could not find the words. He knew all eyes in the country were on him. He knew that he was close to victory. All he had to do was kill the last two badly wounded tributes and it would all be over. He was about to go home, but something stopped him from finishing them.

"Surprised?" Hank asked with a slight smile. "Reckon you are that full of yourself not to see it."

"Bull Hank! Bull!" Mark screamed back. Hank just looked off into the distance. Mark could not believe even in his dying state that Hank was challenging him. Mark was taken back by the bold accusations of his supposed partner.

"When I'm done with her, we settle up," Mark growled at the dying boy as he pointed the spear tip at Mason's body. He moved over her and pushed her face up with the end of the spear. He stared down in her tear soaked eyes.

"This doesn't change anything between us," Mark said softly to Mason. He kicked her in the broken arm as an evil smile shot across his face. All Mason could do what scream out. Her alternating cries and gasps faded off into a whimper as the dying girl rolled onto her back and clutched her broken arm. Mark began to circled his victim like a hawk. He was going to send a message. No need to kill quickly now. Hank was bleeding to death and could barley breathe while Mason had four badly wounded limbs. Mark knew if she had any ability to fight, she would have used it by now.

He pulled out the blade from his belt beside the tomahawk and held it up for the girl to see.

"Now, let's see what's under that pretty little face of yours"

"Stop it Mark," Hank screamed with all his breath. "She did what anyone of us would try and do. Reckon she got a little sister back home named Johanna. Fixin to let you know she is all Jenny has. Reckon her little sister don't need to see this. Reckon you made your point. Don't do this."

"I wonder what little Johanna will think of her sister with no face," Mark mused to Hank. All the Mason could do was scream until Mark kicked her hard in the head. She fell silent the instant the blow connected.

"What happened to killing with utility, huh?" Hank voiced echoed with arrogance.

"Look around you partner," Mark pointed to the woods as he spoke, "it's just us three. I don't I need to worry about anyone interrupting us. You remember what I said about betraying me? Well, now I'm going to make good on my word."

"Go ahead then. Now at least you can act like them. Fixin they wouldn't let you join them as careers. Reckon that's all you really are in the end, and arrogant kid who was left out of the club." Hank's words froze Mark cold in his stance. He could not believe what he was hearing. Of all the weapons Hank could have chosen to stop Mark, the cruel truth was the most effective.

Mark squared his shoulders to his partner. His face was awash in rage. Mark lowered his brow and stared with hate filled eyes at Hank. He held the look for what Hank felt like was an eternity. A silence hung over the scene. The tension between the boys grew thick.

"I can't help that she did you in Hank, but you don't have to stab me in the back with your regret."

"It ain't reget. Her stabbing me or you killing me, it all ends the same. No, reckon I ain't gonna see ma and pa again, but I ain't passing quietly." Hank choked up a few drops of blood that ran down his lip and flowed onto is neck. "Go ahead, ain't no one left to stop you. Put on a show for all of Panem to see. Let them know just who you really are? You hate bullies, but you're gonna act just like them. Reckon that's a hypocrite if I ever saw one!"

Mark stared intensely at Hank as he stood over Mason and grasped the spear with both hands. He raised the weapon high and pointed the sharpened end down toward Mason. The suffering girl only looked up with a pleading expression. Her eyes begged for mercy as tears streamed down her cheeks. She was so close to going home. Now, she just hoped for an end to the pain. She tried to close her left hand, but the mangles fingers only sent waves of pain though the arms. She was defenseless against her powerful captor. She had fallen hard from where she had been just a few minutes ago. She had underestimated Mark and now she was paying an awful price. In these last moments she realized that she was just one in a series of tributes to fall for the boy from district three's deceptions. At least she was not alone in her folly. Not that it mattered. She prayed that her little sister was not watching this. She had no clue what horrors Mark had in store for her, but she hoped that her sister would not find out. Jenny Mason had been cunning, just not cunning enough.

Mark's eyes never left Hank's as the spear came down and skewed the skull of Jenny Mason. Blood spatter up and stained Mark's pant legs, but he never altered his gaze. Even the cannon sound that thundered thought the cold morning air was useless in moving the two boys locked in a stare over the hurt filled conversation.

Hank had won this round. He had got what he wanted, Mason's quick death. Hank knew it was a victory and so did Mark, though he didn't care. Hank had pulled Mark back into his original plan of killing quickly and with utility. The slow agonizing death of Mason would have not played well to the people who cared about him back home. Mark was going to win these games and he knew it. There were no sponsors to impress now. There was no need to pander to an audience. Soon Hank would be dead and Mark would be on his way home, but Mark was looking for something else entirely before he ended these games and he knew that killing Mason fast would be his best way to get it.

"Happy?" Mark asked with a cruel voice. The mercy he had just shown was not reflected in his voice. Hank just looked back at him unimpressed.

"Now Hank, now we settle up."

"There is no settle between you and me. Reckon all you want to do is feel good about killing me," Hank responded. His words were filled with contempt.

"I told you I would partner with you till the end and now it is the end."

"Well, then just kill me," Hank answered just before coughing violently and spit up more blood. He was in great pain and fighting just to breath, but his anger was keeping him alive.

"You owe me a handshake, remember? "

"I ain't shaking your hand. Reckon Ma and Pa can be proud of me for that. Reckon shaking hands with the kid who used me and others is a nasty way to go. I'm fixin to die proud, not yeller and pitiful." Hank's face dropped into a smile. He was going to die on his terms.

"No Hank. We had an agreement. We started this alliance with a handshake and we finish it with one."

"No Mark," his words were full of agony. "You're the feller that started this with a handshake. Reckon I was too scared no not agree. Reckon I was too yeller of you not to play along and you done used me for all it was worth."

"I never used you. We worked together. We killed those other tributes as a team. You ate well, were warm, slept without being hunted, what are you complaining about?"

"You killed and you needed me to do it." Hank was growing weaker, but he still maintained his intensity towards Mark.

"You killed too. I'm not the only one with blood on my hands. I saw you beat the boy from district one to death." Mark words were accusing and his voice was rising. He pressed himself to maintain control of his emotions. There were no other tributes to attack him, but Mark knew he had to maintain control of the situation.

"No partner, I just beat the ground. He was already dead when I got to him. I was too yeller not to show off." Hank's gaze dropped to the ground. He labored in his breathing. Mark knew he didn't have long. Hank raised his head and stared Mark directly in the eyes with concentrated hate. Hank let a long silence pass between them, but when he spoke it burned like fire to Mark.

"I know what you did to the kid from district nine, shot him in the back then beat him to death. She told me." Hank raised a finder and pointed to Mason. "Ran him down and killed him. She saw it. She told me all about it. Kind of wish I had known that from the start with you."

"His name was Earl. I ran into him fleeing the cornucopia and yes I killed him." Mark's voice was at a scream. "I shot him and beat him over the head because I was scared and not thinking strait. That first kill was hard. I needed his pack!" Mark paused for a second to compose himself. "So what Hank, so what? I never saw you complain about the supplies we used. I killed a lot of tributes out here. Does it really matter how it all started?"

"Then there was the gal from four. Reckon you used her just like Mason, only you executed her. You tricked her to bow down before you killed her. It made me sick and scared of you Mark. You told her happy stories that made you look sympathetic and then I reckon you slaughtered her like a pig." Hank became more defiant with each passing word.

"She was a career and dangerous. Plus, I needed the intel on her partner. I killed her that way to make it easy on all of us. She didn't even know it was coming." Mark was almost begging as the words passed from his lips. Hank just stared at him with weak eyes. He was becoming paler by them moment, but had no intention of passing away before he finish his accusations of his once partner.

"Reckon it don't done matter now partner. Fixin to think you'll never get it. You think those kids back home laughed at you because they were jealous of you. Partner, you are sadly mistaken." Hank's voice grew hoarse. He struggled to gain his breath. Mark hoped he would just die right there before he could finish. Mark did not want to hear what Hank was telling him, but could not bring himself to stop Hank. The shock of this revelation from Hank was a cold blast of reality that Mark fought viciously to deny himself.

"They laughed at you because they hated you! You must have been some bugger to them. The smarty arrogant kid, mean and conceded, thinking his stuff don't stink. Reckon I know your type Mark and I fixin to know why they disliked you. And what do you do? You play the victim! It's never your fault and always someone else's. They would starve and you would prosper and you let them know it. You think they were cruel to you? Well, how about how you treated them partner?"

Hank stared in contempt. His words sliced Mark open like a sharp blade to the gut, but nothing was flowing out of Mark. He continued to star Hank down with a look of hate and disbelief. Yes, Hank was going to die, but he was not going down without a fight. It was not a not a physical fight which Mark was prepared for, but a mental battle. Hank was going to let Mark know what he really though of him before he died. Hank just hoped that Mark would not rage out and kill him in a cruel and painful manner. He knew the things that Mark could do; he just hoped that he would be too focused on himself and his disbelief to end Hank slowly. Hank hoped Mark would kill him in a fit of rage long before he though of killing him slow.

"They hated me since…" Mark tried to retort.

"Since when Mark? Since When? When you became elevated above them in the district? They suddenly just turned on you one day? Partner, I don't think so. Reckon you bossed me and Mason around all the time. Fixin I can only figure how you started to treat the other kids."

"Stop!" Mark shouted to Hank. He pointed his spear at his wounded partner and cocked his head to the right side. With a deep breath of cold morning air Mark thundered back at Hank "I gave you a chance to live. We killed the worst tribute, ate well, kept warm and didn't worry about things the others did. You could have even won this."

"Yeah, could have, but I'm not. I lived in fear of you the whole time and finally at the end you showed your true self to me with Mason. Yeah, I reckon I lived a little nice, but at what cost?" Hank coughed a long hacking bellow and spit a large mouthful of blood on the ground. Mark was amazed that a boy dying right before his eyes had so much intensity at his end.

"Fine words from a dying tribute with remorse. Sour grapes Hank, sour grapes."

"Ain't nothing sour about it. Pa raised me to be true and guess I am. More true than you will ever be I reckon." Hank voice grew weaker. "I'm done with you. I ain't shaking your hand. We ain't friends and we ain't partners no more."

Mark turned away from Hank and walked back to Mason. He knelt down to the girl who just moments ago was about to feel the brunt of Mark's rage. Her head was covered in blood and the wound had swollen around where the spear had once been. Her eyes still bore the painful look of a wounded and dying animal as her lifeless body grew cold on the ground. Staring down at her, Mark suddenly realized just how cold he had become himself. He was freezing.

"I didn't want it to end this way Hank. I though you and I could have it out man to man once she was dead. It would have been one hell of an ending. It would have been two friends, unlikely partners, killing each other for victory. I would have been an ending to remember I guess." Mark bent down and closed Mason's eyes with his right hand. He then folded her arms across her chest like he had done to almost all of other kills except the boy from district eleven. Her right arm sagged in an unnatural way due to the break. Mark never even felt an ounce of remorse for what he did to mason. She tried to betray him so she had this coming to her. Hank laid there silent. Mark harbored a hope that Hank would just slip away while he said his goodbyes to Mason, but Hank didn't. He just kept silent.

"I was going to make it swift for her. She would never have seen it coming." Mark's words hung in the air as he shivered from the cold.

"When I'm gone," Hank spoke softly in a gurgled voice, "reckon you don't touch me. I don't need no fake goodbye."

Mark never looked back before he spoke. "Don't worry Hank, this is for my victims. You are mason's kill."

With those words, Mark started to gather sticks for a fire. He had begun to shiver violently in the cold air. He needed to stay warm until Hank died. He was not about to give his supposed friend the quick death that would have been merciful. Mark wanted no more to do with Hank. To Mark, Hank's cruel words were uncalled for and hateful to someone who helped him. Dying alone and without comfort was Mark best choice for Hank. If he had killed Hank in a fit of rage, Mark would have truly become what Hank had accused him of. Mark thought of himself better than that.

Mark barely had a few sticks for kindling before the sound he only dreamed rang out. The final cannon sounded though the freezing cold forest. Suddenly, like a sound mightier than all twenty four canon blasts combined, trumpets wailed in the sky. Mark was this year's victor. The moment barley registered with him.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," the voice of Claudius Templeton began to announce, "I give you the victor of this year's Hunger Games, Mark from district three."

Mark look up and around his surroundings. In a moment this glorious, one would think he would have celebrated like the day he reaped from district three. Instead Mark barley raised two tired hand to the sky in a V formation, clothes his eyes and tilted his head back. For the first time since reaping day he breathed a sigh of relief. His exhale was barley audile murmur of the words, "I'm going home!"

By the time he opened his eyes, a hovercraft appeared over him and lowered a platform down to him. Mark knew that this was his ride home. He never really entertained the notion that he would walk out of the arena. He always assumed that he would be lifted out dead. The freezing cold of the morning had not relented in sucking the heat out of him and his ordeal with Mason and conversation with Hank made him ignore the cold around him. He had been focused on the endgame so much that he neglected to listen to the signals from his own body. He thought he must almost be hypothermic by now. His shivers had grown worse in the last few minutes, but Mark knew that once he boarded the platform, he would soon be warm.

Mark walk to the edge of the platform and stopped. He turned back and looked at Hank. His former partner's face was a sad lifeless expression staring up at the sky.

"Goodbye Hank. You were a great friend here and I forgive you."

Mark hoped the words would erase the rage and hate Hank's last words planted inside of him. In time, Mark would know, but for now all he wanted to do was go home. He stepped onto the platform and was lifted out of the arena.

As soon as he was safe within the hovercraft, medical personnel in white coats moved towards Mark. He immediately backed up, drew his tomahawk from his belt, and pointed a finger at the personnel in the white coats.

"Stay the hell away from me!"

The last thing Mark could recall after those words was falling weightlessly to the floor of the craft and blacking out.

* * *

******Author's** Notes: Though the Games are finished, the story of Mark is not finished. I still have a chapter or two to tie up loose ends. Yes, the anti-hero is the victor, but what do you expect? The games are cruel. This is a dark tale, but I assure you it only gets more twisted in the final close out for our victor.


	29. Chapter 28: The Toast of the Capitol

"So, after all that passed between you two, you felt compelled to say those last words to him." Cesar Flickerman voice rang out. The TV screens had just concluded the scene of Mark saying goodbye to Hank and Mark being raised onto the hovercraft. This was Mark's first interview after the games, all of the country was watching.

"I as well as most of Panem are wondering," Cesar pause, "why?"

Mark raised his right hand and rested it on the arm of the chair he was sitting in. He leaned into Cesar and looked him strait in the eyes as he began to speak.

"To me, he was my friend, a very good friend. Without him I don't think I could have done as well as I did. I needed to have the last word on us. I wanted to forgive him." Mark turned his gaze to the audience. "I needed to say good bye to a brave tribute."

Applause roared from the crowd, but Mark could only see Uncle Joe and Mrs. D. They were both smiling. He had delivered the line just as they rehearsed. When the applause died down Mark began to speak again.

"Seeing now what went on between Hank and Mason, I now know why he said what he said. She had really done a number on him. No doubt she convinced him for her own purposes."

"And what do you think of Jenny Mason now?" Cesar leaned in with the question.

Mark leaned back in his chair and straightened up. "She was good. Good enough to fool us, good enough to turn Hank, but not good enough to finish me. In the end it really doesn't matter." Mark's face broke into a smile, "In the end, I'm the tribute lucky enough to sit here and talk to you again."

Applause rang out.

"What now. What will you do now that you have won the Hunger Games?"

"Well, like I told you last time we spoke, I had plans for my future. I guess I'm going to have to pick them back up now that I am going to live. I still want to be an engineer. I still want to be a master of technology." He paused for a moment and flashed a mischievous smile, "I also want to apologize to my mom for telling her goodbye."

A sigh rushed over the crowd for the soft comment about his mom. This comment was rehearsed too. His mentors had prepared him well again.

"Most of all, I just want to try and live life to the fullest. This is a great gift in winning the games. The Capitol has given me a great opportunity to excel. Now, it is up to me to go with it." Mrs. D knew her audience well. The powers that be did not like a victor who would cause problems. She made sure that this answer was properly inserted. No talk about the kids back home or pointing fingers back home would be allowed. This was to be smooth and uncontroversial. His mentors had waited a long time to produce a victor and they were not about to let it be spoiled by bad behavior in the victory celebrations. Keep it simple was the name of the game from here on.

"Mark, it has been a most entertaining Hunger Games. I look forward to seeing you again." With that, Cesar extended his hand for Mark to shake. Mark shot his hand out and firmly grasped Cesar's. Both men rose as they shook each other's hand.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you this year's victor: Mark the Engineer from district three"

The crowd was on its feet instantly. The bright lights drowned out just how large the audience was, but Mark didn't care, he just wanted off the stage. His interview before the games was easy and simple. This round was too complex and too worrisome. Mark never expected to be back during the first interview, he really had nothing to lose in his mind. Back then, he was at easy. The victor's interview on the other hand carried too many expectations and consequences. Mark just wanted to get away from it.

Uncle Joe met him just off stage.

"I don't care how the audience cheered, you still are a little dumbass," Uncle Joe said with a smile. This was a typical comment from his uncle, never a kind word. The only times Mark could remember sincere kindness from him were just before and just after the games. Before the games his Uncle Joe told him that he would enjoy watching Mark do what needed to be done and he was proud how prepared Mark was. He also told Mark that he was proud of his father for helping him in the early years prepare Mark for the games. When Uncle Joe first met him after the games, he hugged Mark and told him he had never had a prouder moment than right then. Mark was shocked, but honored. It was extremely rare that Joe gave a complement, especially one so great.

"My dear, you were perfect," Mrs. D beamed from ear to ear as she hugged Mark. "Now let's get you to the sponsor's diner. You need to thank those who fed and healed you. It will be great, I promise." She was just a little too giddy for Mark's taste. The great victor Wiress finally got her victor. This was the validation to herself. She tried and failed many times to be the great mentor, but in Mark she found success. Now, she would enjoy it for all it was worth. In truth, Uncle Joe was his assigned mentor, but both he and Mrs. D were given the credit. She was not about to let this moment slip her by.

And so it went. For the next day, Mark would be the celebration of the whole Capitol. He tried to enjoy it, but felt crushed by the attention. Mrs. D told him it was natural, but to him it seems she was basking in the thrill of victory more than him. Every person who sponsored Mark wanted a piece of him. They wanted his attention, his perspective on events, his take on the games as a whole, and some even wanted him physically, though Mark was shielded from these desires by his mentors.

Uncle Joe did not play the spoiler to the cheerful mood of celebration. He did maintain his hard drinking along with his rough and jagged personality to the world, but not a shred of it came Mark's way. The grumpy uncle was now a respectful friend of sorts. Uncle Joe did let Mark know that this happens all over again in six months on the victor's tour. He told Mark that even though they were about to leave the Capitol, the attention was far from over. He also hinted that Mrs. D would be coming on the tour and most likely would be twice as giddy. The only balance he offered was that some of the other district three victors would be there as well. Beetee would surly come along and he more than anyone knew how to calm her. The warning was not even sarcastic, but given with a friend's grace. Yes, Uncle Joe was a little different.

Through it all though, Mark just wanted to go home to see his family.


	30. Chapter 29: Confessions in the Dark

Mark sat in the dark silence of the dining car staring out the window as the world passed by. He couldn't sleep. He knew by morning they all would be back in district three. His only companion was a glass of light brown liquor that he was trying to drink. It was harsh with a smoky flavor and Mark had a hard time drinking it, but he knew in time he would grow a taste for it. He saw his uncle drink it strait, but Mark found his preference was to add a few cubes of ice to it. Mark had a feeling that now with his new success he would have access to both the drink and the ice. He just didn't know how far he wanted to fall into the habit of drinking. His uncle was a heavy drinker and always had been since he returned from the games, but his father rarely touched the stuff. Mark could only wonder whose influence would be stronger once he returned to his life in district three.

As the world rushed pass with the smooth rhythmic clack of the train, Mark felt all alone and private for the first time since he left his parents house the morning of the reaping. It was an eerie feeling. Mark also though that he could become accustom to the relaxed feeling of the drink. He had to keep up public appearances for another day or so. Then, he could hide form the world for a little while. Whatever house he would move into on victor's row would be his escape from the rest of the world. He thought he might even spend the summer drunk and carefree. No hunting rats or playing with weapons for him anymore. He would be rich and not have to worry about survival any more. He could take care of his family without doing a single thing. Those who would be jealous of his new found success could go to hell for all he was concerned. Those who laughed at him he wish would go to hell.

Suddenly and without thinking his had shot to his belt where his tomahawk was during the games and sprang into a defensive posture. It all happened without thinking like some sort of reflex. As he scanned to his left, there emerging into the darkness of the dining car was Mrs. D.

"Mind if I join you," she asked in a friendly tone.

Mark sat back down, slumped into his chair and pointed to the seat across from him.

"Sure," he responded in a nonchalant manner.

Mrs. D sat down and picked up her own glass. She filled it with the same drink that Mark was trying to become accustom to. The glass was almost as tall as her hand and she did not spare any space in it. Mrs. D filled the glass completely without a moment's hesitation. She didn't even put the bottle down before she knocked back a large moth full of the liquid. To Mark's amazement, she didn't even flinch. This woman was harder than the careful look of her polished exterior. Mark knew she was cunning and mean, but apparently she was gruff too. She started to stare out the window as she put down the bottle.

Her gaze never returned into the room as she began to speak. "You really gave them a show out there. You had people begging to sponsor you after that killing spree the first day. They haven't seen that in a while."

Mark took another sip of his glass and tried to hold in the scowl from the taste.

"And the buddy story line you fostered with that kid from ten, pure gold."

"His name was Hank," mark answered, but Mrs. D took no notice to his response.

"Even when you were dying from the ant bites, you looked the strongest. You still dominated those kids. Your little self bait stunt made people wonder just how bad you were sick, but planned or not, we were able to make them see that you were still in control." Her gaze still was locked somewhere in the world that was speeding by outside the window. She seemed not to want to look at him as she made this confession.

"It was until you let Hank ramble on that we thought we were going to lose it."

Finally, she turned and faced Mark. Leaning towards him, she rested the elbow of her drinking arm on the table, extended her arm toward Mark and pointed at him with her index finger that she unwrapped from the glass. She lowered her bow and tightened her face as she began to speak.

"You were good, but that's only because we made you so good." Her words were sharp and accusing. "We groomed you, motivated you and protected you." A silence hung between them. She shook her drink in a circular motion as she talked to him. The drink swirled in the glass, but did not spill a drop.

"You were the most skilled and trained tribute I had ever seem from district three, but we needed to make sure you were ready. It was almost a gift what those kids did to you at the reaping. They made you ready to kill and kill you did." When she was done speaking she lowered her hand and placed the drink on the table. Mrs. D relaxed back into her chair and pouted her expression before speaking again.

"Poor little Stacy, so scared and so easy to manipulate. I have to say, if you didn't do so well I might actually feel guilty about what I did to her." Mark's mouth dropped at the sound of the confession. His face, which he was coach to always keep control of, fell into an expression of pure shock.

"What, do you think all those outbursts were her own emotions running away from her," Mrs. D was on the edge of laughter. "My dear victor, the engineer, I drove her to them. What better way to keep you focused and angry? What better way to constantly remind you of the shame those kids placed on you? What better way to motivate you to kill so ruthlessly and effectively. You needed to be put in the right mind set and Stacy was perfect motivation."

Mark eyes narrowed and his face tightened. "You used her? You pushed her to get a reaction out of me?" He slumped back in his chair and smiled for a moment then looked off into the night. He brought the glass to his lips to drink, but decided otherwise and set it back down on the table.

"A little white lie there, a little deceit here, a graphic story of how the careers were already talking about killing her slow and that's all it took. She was easy to get a good rise out of. All it took for her to lash out at you were a few praises of your performance." Mrs. D was smiling at her work. She showed no remorse for the anguish she caused the girl. For her, the ends justified the means and in the end she got her victor.

"Joe and I were amazed at how you became more and more determined when she lashed out. We knew you were ready. All we needed to do was make you willing. The poor girl never had a chance anyway. It was a blessing she died in the opening minute and with her our sin died too." Mrs. D took a drink and tipped her glass to Mark in a salute. "These are the games. You will learn that sometimes you have to do the best with what you got and other times you have to kill one to save the other."

Mark raised his glass. "To Stacy, may she rest in peace," Mark toasted in a somber low voice. He felt sick at the notion of how he had been used. Mrs. D tripped her glass back in agreement.

"Now, when you get home, the story will be different," Mrs. D continued. "You will tell of how hard Stacy worked, how you were going to work together and how you became friends near the end. Most of all, you will tell how all those things you said about her in the arena were to manipulate Hank. You needed to look harsh to him and how you regret saying it now." She tightened her face and cast him a stern look of dominance. "That is how we all will talk, you, me, Joe, Beetee, all of us."

A silence passed for a few seconds and Mrs. D relaxed and brightened her face. With a cheerful voice she continued, "That is how we brush over all the ugly truth, happy lies." With that comment, she finished her drink and placed the glass on the table. Tapping her fingers on the wooden surface a few times, she slid the glass in Mark direction, leaned forward and placed both palms on the surface of the table.

"You will learn about using others. Your uncle and I will teach you. Someday, you will mentor tributes and you'll have to watch them die, watch them cry out, look their families in the eyes, and escort their bodies home. It never gets any easier, but sometimes you can actually help them. It just comes at a price." Her eyes filled with sadness as she finished speaking.

"You're the Capitol's now. From the moment your name was reaped they own you. The only way out is death. Some go mad, other fall into the drink and finally there are those who are consumed so badly it kills them. Then there are others, other who know the truth, others who accept it and move one."

Mrs. D stood up and looked down at Mark. Her face no longer was illuminated by the outside moon light. When she spoke it came from the empty void that started above her waist.

"Your were extraordinary out there and whatever happened since you left district three does not matter. The only thing that matters is you are getting to go home. There are twenty three tributes, including poor Stacy, who would love to trade places with you right now. Don't be one of those who the games destroys once they live though it."

Mark just sat there stunned in silence. He felt indifferent to what she was saying, but didn't know why. Mark wondered if he was that heartless. He wondered if he really was all Hank had accused him of. He felt bad, but not awful for what they had done to Stacy. He didn't care that Mrs. D took such great pride in manipulating her to motivate him. Even the buzz he had worked up with the drink couldn't numb the feeling of indifference he was having. All he could think about was how right Mrs. D had been when she told him to just let it all go. He had no qualms about that.

"Was Hank right about me?" Mark asked in an angry tone. His voice defied the confused thoughts in his head.

"Mostly yes," she replied from the darkness. "The funny thing is, I know my own type. I was the same as you Mark, outcast by most of the others kids. I blamed them, but in the end I was a real bitch when I was selected to move up. I see it all the time in my class. Most of the selected kids who I teach all become snotty little brats. Hank was right, you're not the victim, you're the cause." She paused for a moment and turned her back to him.

"Get over it Mark." With that, she walked out.

Mark took a long swig of his drink. It burned his throat going down, but the pain knocked him out of the reality of being most of the things he had come to hate. It took the games and a dying boy, who he thought was his friend, to show him the truth. Yes, he would live, but he wondered just how to proceed. The truth hurt.

Just as Mrs. D was about to exit the car, she stop. With a sharp turn, she faced Mark one last time and cocked her head back to speak. "One last thing, you will still be my student this fall. All the selected engineer kids go though me at one point or another, I only deal with the best." An arrogance rose in her voice as she continued. "Victor or no victor, I still maintain my standards in the classroom. You may have survived the games, but you are far from surviving me. Beetee may accept you, but you still have a lot to prove to me. I suggest if you really want to be an engineer Mark, you stay away from the bottle." Mrs. D calmed her voice and offered a plea to her young victor by saying, "Be one of those who move on from the games Mark. Don't let it consume you." With that comment, she disappeared into the night.

Mark only sat there alone with his thoughts. He didn't know what to think. In the morning he would be home. What that would bring would be a mystery. Mark had denied all Hank had said up until tonight, but now he finally accepted it. Who he was, how he acted, and how others treated him were all being rewritten right before is eyes. He held out hope it was all a misconception by a scared boy, but it was that boy that first opened his eyes. Others may have tried, but he was too stubborn and proud to see it. Mark now knew he was that bad person Hank talked about, Mrs. D confirmed it. He was going to have to accept it now and move one. He was given a great opportunity to change. He was going to live to see another day; it all depended on how he would use it. Mark felt more alone in the dark room than when he first fled the opening bloodbath.

He raised his glass in the dark and toasted, "To Hank, thanks for the truth Cowboy. "

He knocked back the drink before slouching in his chair and passing out. The weight of the night's conversation and the anticipation of returning home finally gave way to sleep.


	31. Chapter 30: A Hero Returns

The sight was beyond belief as the train rolled into district three. Mark's name was everywhere. Signs hung from almost every building that was near the train tracks to welcome him home. It was as if the whole district had caught a case of victory fever. Slogans like "Welcome home Mark," "Our brave warrior returns," or "District three loves The Engineer," were draped out for him to see. Mark could hardly believe what his eyes were seeing. Was this the same district that laughed at him not long ago? It was more than he expected.

"Five minutes Mark," Mrs. D called down to him from across the dining car.

It was all scripted out for him. Where he would go, what he would say, and most importantly how he would act. Mrs. D and Uncle Joe had him up early to rehearse despite the slight hangover he was having.

As the train moved closer to the station, the signs became larger. Then, he began to see actual pictures of himself. Images of him standing over Mason and another with him in his camouflaged outfit firing his bow were hanging from the justice building. If he had not seen it for himself, he would have believed it. It all filled him with dread for what else awaited him once he finally stepped off of the train. It had been about twenty years since district three produced a victor and now they were finally able to celebrate. Usually the return train from the games was not even noticed. It was a somber event for the families. Today, Mark assumed the whole district would be out in the streets. The only people not celebrating would be Stacy's family. Her body would leave the train long after the crowds had dispersed.

Finally, the train slowed to a crawl as it entered the station. Mark could not see a single structure that did not have a welcome sign or his image on it. The crowd that filled the station and surrounding streets was enormous and loud. Even in the sealed train he could hear the thunder of the cheers. Mark could only wonder the pandemonium that would ensue once he began his properly prepared speech. All his words were selected to produce the maximum effect. To him, it all seemed like smoke and mirrors for what truly occurred, but Mark knew better than to deviate. Mrs. D made it perfectly clear the consequences for letting his true thoughts out. Appearances mattered now, not the ugly truth.

Finally, the train stopped and Mark could finally see his family standing waiting to greet him. It seemed like an impossible dream when he was last here, but now they were just moments away. They stood right next to the district mayor and the other power players. He had no idea what to expect when the doors opened. He had never expected to see his family again when he was reaped so he never entertained the thought of a reunion.

"Mark," Beetee said as he placed his hand on Mark's shoulder, "remember, your life starts new the moment those doors open. It's all up to you how you live it, but never forget the past." His voice was calm and caring. "Learn from it and move on. Don't live in what was, live in what could be. The past will only consume you Mark. It doesn't matter what you were, it only matters what you will become."

Mark paused for a second and looked at Beetee with a blank stare and suddenly all the hate drained from him. The aggressive stance he chose for his return suddenly melted away. Beetee was right, it all didn't matter.

"District three I give you your victor, Mark the ENGINEEERRR!"

The door opened and Mark stepped out. From that moment, it was all a blur to him. The thunder of the crowds, the tearful hugs and kiss from his mother, and the hand shake from the mayor all passed before him at light speed. His speech drew a five minute round of claps and screams, but when he raises his hand to salute the crowd, much like he had done on reaping day, it all began again. This is what it felt like to be absolved of his past. This is what he thought it was like to come back from the dead. Mark basked in the celebration. After a few moments, he truly began to enjoy and celebrate his success. The killings, the fear, the pain, the deceptions, the emotions, and the acceptance of his own death all funneled into this celebration. The crowd was putty in his hands and he was actually enjoying it, but Beetee's words still remained locked in his memory.

"Just remember my dear boy," Mrs. D whispered in his ear, "fame is fleeting you."

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

**This is the end of the dark tale. For those who were wondering about the alternate and proposed endings, please PM me and I will send them to you. Thank you for all those who commented and PM'd me during the publishing. I appreciated all of the suggestions and thoughts along the way. Please, if you have anything to still say, SAY IT! Good, bad or indifferent to the way things turned out, I always love to hear about it. A lot of what was already said will shape that which I write in the future.**

**I will be updating the chapters with minor spelling and grammar corrections, but no changes to the story. I am very pleased the way the story has unfolded and the way I was able to end this tale. Happy endings are boring. Appropriate endings are far more interesting and fun. **

**I have planes for another story, but not a true sequel. Whatever I write, rest assured that Mark, Beetee, Uncle Joe and Wiress "Mrs. D" will make a cameo. This destructive group is too much fun not to write about. **

**Captain I**


End file.
